All Wet
by Mistiec
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRERENT now COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: Will become M eventually.  
Notes: Another how-they-met story, focusing on Joanne, trying hard to not get caught up in the hurricane of Maureen.

--  
**Chapter 1. **

It wasn't that Joanne Jefferson wanted to fall in love with Maureen.

In fact, clearly outlined, the facts against a relationship with Maureen Johnson gravely outnumbered the facts for it. Joanne was already battling so many prejudices within her career being a black woman, and a lesbian black woman at that. It was the ole' boys network working hard and fast, and though she would never admit it, there was a part deep inside of her that knew that part of the reason doors had opened for her in first place was due to her father.

It was thanks to her ever loving, ever expecting parents that Joanne knew the importance of image. Working in government, becoming a servant of the people, meant adhering to certain rules and placements, and coming out had been quite a hit to her poor parent's campaign aspirations. Until, of course, they discovered the gay platform and its uses, and Joanne became not just 'Our Daughter Joanne, the Civil Rights Lawyer', but 'Our Gay Daughter Joanne, the Civil Rights Lawyer'.

There were times she felt almost bitter about the blatant use of her sexuality to further her parent's career ambitions, until of course, she was reminded of the fact that her parents were loving and supportive and not at all like some of the horror stories that came to her desk in the form of cases, or stories told to her by her fellow female professionals.

Still, lesbian or not, being a Jefferson from the Upper East Side did carry with it certain expectations. While Joanne wasn't expected to marry a well-to-do young man with political aspirations, she was expected to meet and find a young woman (preferably of color, but her parents were proud of their liberal values), with expect ional breeding, a career with a sizable income, and the ability to mingle and socialize with the upper crust of New York society.

Despite herself, Joanne found the idea insufferably boring.

She had an utter fascination for the bourgeois, always had, and although she would never consider herself one of them, she found something raunchy and naughty and real about la vie boheme. Starving artists, hopeless drug addicts, single mothers, and a rising AIDS epidemic were more than just colorful dinner party chatter. She wanted to make a difference, and the problems with New York, the severe divide in class and society and the rising awareness of the squalor of the slums, had her aching to get in deep, dirty.

Her parents, delighted with their do-gooder daughter, only encouraged her aspirations, and for that she was grateful. She was a fighter, scrappy and determined to make a name for herself on her own, and the cases she worked, taking her to the seedier parts of the city, cast a small thrill inside of her, simmering excitement in her veins.

Sometimes she would linger, step into one of the local bars, sit at the counter and order a beer. In her smart, fitted black suit, she would let brown eyes linger over the crowd, the loud teeming mass of bohemians and for a minute, pretend she was one of them.

She always snapped out of it. She always finished her beer and smiled primly at the bartender, leaving a sizable tip before gathering her briefcase and taking her leave, back to reality, back to corporate America. There was mild flirting with some women, but it was always back home alone, and on weekends, back to her blind dates with dull women who only cared about politics or were so type A they frightened even HER.

That was the way of it, until she met Maureen Johnson.

Maureen, from the beginning, was impossible not to notice. Maureen didn't put herself in the way of being ignored. In retrospect, Joanne suspected that was how she had gathered Maureen's attention: by ignoring her.

Deeply involved in a case, she had stopped into a neighborhood café for a cup of coffee, taking a moment to sit and review a deposition before an interview with a pro bono case. It was a chilly, rainy afternoon, and Joanne was in a surly mood, annoyed at her damp hair and wet shoes. She wasn't in the mood for a pick up, for a mild flirtation or even a conversation.

It wasn't love at first sight with Maureen Johnson: it was pure irritation. The woman pushed down into the table beside her, loud, and proceeded to shake the droplets of water out of her wild, brunette mess of curls, and straight onto her paperwork.

Later, Maureen would joke that from the moment they met, she had gotten her wet. "You'll laugh at it someday," she would tell her pointedly, when Joanne could only glare in response.

At the moment, Joanne wasn't laughing. Lifting her head, she heaved an aggravated sigh and cleared her throat with a sharp, distinctive, "Excuse me. Do you mind?"

The woman had a too wide mouth, accentuated by red, red lipstick, and dark eyes that were set apart on either side of an almost pointy noise. She was completely inappropriately dressed for the weather, in a skimpy tank top and too tight pants, a wet motorcycle jacket pooling a puddle on the floor. And despite all this, when her eyes fell on Joanne, Joanne could have sworn it was herself being judged.

"Not at all," said the rough voice, a laugh behind it. "Thanks for asking."

And with that, the woman went right back to laughing with table full of bohemians. Joanne was in no mood for a smart ass, nor was she used to being ignored. "You just wet and nearly ruined an entire deposition."

Tilting her head, as if annoyed to be interrupted again, the woman arched a well trimmed eyebrow, taking her in, from the expensive shoes to the manicured fingernails. "I apologize," came the sarcastic tone. "Let me dry it for you."

And with that, her papers were snatched from her hand and rubbed against the chest of the woman, crinkling around the ample bosom in the process.

Hooting and hollering immediately followed, and Joanne's palms clenched into unladylike fists.

"What are you doing!"

"Drying your deposition," the woman replied, practically performing a pole dance around her papers. "After all, it's only fair, I wet it, didn't I?"

"Would you please give me that?"

"No, wait, there's still a couple dry spots." And now the woman was actually LICKING it.

By now there was an entire audience, cheering the woman on (Maureen, she heard), and Joanne, standing alone in the colorful coffee house, was beyond embarrassed. Clearly, this was the other woman's haunt, and in her suit and shiny shoes, Joanne was clearly an Other.

Fuck it. Steve would have to print another deposition. Turning, she gathered her briefcase together and slung her trenchcoat over her shoulder, ignoring the searing heat in her cheeks and making sure to keep her head held high, Joanne exited the cafe, and never looked back.

Until the next week, when once again, she was in the same part of the city, in the same café, on her way back from meeting another pro bono client, taking a coffee break.

Joanne was so absorbed in her work, she was taken completely by surprise when a winkled, worn copy of the deposition from last week was thrown on her table, nearly upsetting her coffee and startling her completely.

"I think that belongs to you."

Standing beside her table was the brunette from before, wearing a smile on her wide mouth, hair pulled back to reveal an attractive face. Stunned, Joanne had no words, and so the other woman merely sat.

"I've been trying to get your attention for about ten minutes, you know that?" she said, as she reached over and plucked a crumb off of Joanne's biscotti, popping it in her mouth. "You left the other day before I could give it back."

Glancing down, Joanne stared at the deposition, wrinkled and curled at the edges. "Maybe I wasn't in the mood to take part in your public flogging."

"God, are you always this sensitive? I gave it back." Straightening, the woman flashed a bright smile, as if it was all forgotten and forgiven. "I'm Maureen."

She stuck her hand out, covered with cheap silver jewelry and black plastic bracelets, red fingernails bright as her lips.

"Uh. Joanne. Jefferson."

"Hi Joanne Jefferson. You know, I've been carrying that thing for a week looking for you to give it back. I finally got so bored I started reading it. How much is this guy getting, anyway?"

Right then and there, Joanne decided the woman was exceedingly attractive, in a bohemian vibrant sort of way, and utterly insane.

"I'm sorry to - I have to go." And so she did, gathering her papers and leaving her biscotti behind, ignoring the irritated look of surprise.

"What?"

"I have a meeting. It was very nice to have met you, Maureen, and thank you for the…" she noticed a rather glaring coffee stain on the back of the wrinkled stapled deposition. "Paper… but I have to go."

"You're welcome," she heard grumbled as she left, and when Joanne looked back, she could have sworn the woman was pouting. But her eyes caught hers, and there was something in them that made Joanne pause, as Maureen looked intently at her in a way she hadn't ever seen before.

Breaking the gaze, Joanne pushed open the door and exited the café.

Joanne remembered thinking she would probably never see the odd woman again, and was grateful for it, because she honestly did not know what to make of a woman who would molest her deposition and then carry it around until she saw her again to give it back.

It spoke of an intriguing, attractive, insane woman, and no good could come of it.

Maureen proved that entirely too well, when, a week later, she showed up at her office.

-- end chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: Will become M eventually.  
Notes: Another how-they-met story, focusing on Joanne, trying hard to not get caught up in the hurricane of Maureen.

--  
**Chapter 2. **

Mr. Frederick Finch was a senior partner with a stiff upper lip, a kind face, and a rather odd set of values. He was also a fierce champion of Joanne, which she suspected had less to do with her than it did her father, who, Mr. Finch claimed, had saved his life during the war.

It was a story Joanne had to endure everytime she was introduced to a client or coworker by Mr. Finch. She ground her teeth and braced herself for the slap across her back and the inevitable, "And this is Howard Jefferson's girl, Joanne! Her father's an ole' pal of mine! Saved my life in the war – and Joanne here's a chip off the old block, aren't you, Joanne?", followed by another back slap that would almost always threaten to teeter her off her heels, plowing straight into the person whose hand she was trying to shake.

Joanne supposed being treated as a chip was better than being treated as a leper, and it was thanks to Mr. Finch that even the most antagonistic assholes around her building treated her with some civility. But Mr. Finch ran his business with some sense of propriety and Joanne, like every other employee, was expected to behave with the utmost professionalism during work hours.

Unfortunately, Mr. Finch also believed that her lesbianism was a passing phase, and the cure was to find herself a nice, decent, hard working boy, "Like my Nicky!"

Nicky was a self-obsessed asshole who regularly held 'meetings' with his secretary during the lunch hour and winked solicitously at her when he knew no one was looking, asking her how it was looking on her end.

It was because of Nicky and Mr. Finch, and ninety percent of the lawyers and legal aids working on her plush, carpeted floor, that forced Joanne to make a point to never bring anyone in her office other than clients and colleagues. Her reputation relied precariously upon respect for what she did, and while Joanne hated the fact that she was forced to work twice as hard as idiots like Nicky simply because she was a woman and a black woman and a black lesbian woman at that, she did what had to be done for the greater good.

And hopefully, a chance to kick Nicky's ass in court.

A week after the rather odd incident at the café, Joanne sat at her desk, working on a particularly hard case that was neither pro-bono or, in her opinion, relevant. It was a civil case of discrimination that was complete bullshit and not worth her time. Already the pile of pro-bono cases that actually mattered were piling up, and her phone lines were blinking, held at bay by Steve, battling the front lines.

On top of the pile lay a wrinkled, worn, coffee-stained deposition that surprised her when she glanced up and realized she still had it.

Reaching over to pluck it off the stack, she let out an aggravated sigh as she inspected the mess that had become of the important document. What was once crisp and clean was now rough, cluttered, and Joanne hated clutter. Still, she held onto the pages with the tips of her fingers, opening it and blinking with alarm.

All over the inside pages was a red, messy scrawl – editorials done in lipstick.

The witness account was given audience and exclamations, "How RUDE!" scrawled across one paragraph. Another said in barely legible writing, "This doesn't make any sense." Joanne squinted at the writing beneath it and noted with some aggravation that it was a section she herself thought odd and had made a point to investigate more thoroughly in court.

On the inside margin of the last page, Maureen had written, "If this is what I had to do all day I'd be uptight too." X's and O's scratched underneath it, followed by a particularly flowery "Maureen".

Joanne could only stare at the page with amazement.

"God," she whispered, letting the pages fall back onto the desk, shoulders slumping in pure wonder. "That girl is something else."

"JEFFERSON!" The booming voice startled her, and she jumped in her seat, exhaling suddenly when Mr. Finch 's bald head popped into her office. "How's that case coming!"

Glancing down at the mangled deposition before her, she flushed, immediately reaching for the folders she should have been looking at. "Going as well as can be expected, sir."

"Good, good." Hands in his pockets, he was an assuming man, a smirk on his face. "Well, get up and let's go to lunch. Come on, you, me and Nicky."

With Mr. Finch, it wasn't a request, and Joanne's smile was pained.

"Uh… Joanne?" Steve ducked in, mouth stuck in an odd expression. "Your… guest is here?"

"My guest?" she repeated, looking confused eyes with her assistant. He shrugged, and jerked his head almost erratically toward the hall, blotchy spots on his pale face that came with aggravation.

"She uh… she said she was here for lunch?"

"You have lunch plans, Jefferson?"

"Well… I… Did you book a lunch for me, Steve?"

Steve licked his lips, clutching onto the doorframe so tightly his knuckles were white. "Well… she-"

A loud, high pitched laugh floated in behind him and with it, came a sinking in her stomach.

Oh… no.

"I really think you should get out here," Steve said, seconds before he ducked back out, leaving her behind with a puzzled Mr. Finch.

"Who is making that racket?" he asked, and immediately began to follow.

Palms pressed against her desk, Joanne lingered a second behind, trying hard to force back her rational state of being. It wasn't her. It couldn't be her. It wouldn't be her, because no sane person would ever come uninvited to a person's place of work and proceed to act like a Bohemian.

Pushing herself off the varnished wood, she took in a heavy breath, and rounded her desk, grabbing her jacket and her purse.

What she saw outside her office door nearly gave her a heart attack.

Maureen, with her wild mess of brown curls and her off the shoulder black shirt, sat perched upon Steve's desk, laughing wildly at some comment that had just come from Nicky himself, who wore the most ridiculous grin she had ever seen.

"Oh my Lord."

"Is this your guest, Jefferson!" came the stern, disapproving voice of Mr. Finch.

The comment was enough to get her noticed, as Maureen, shoulders still shaking with mirth at the idiotic Nicky, looked her way, and waved. "Hi! Joanne!"

Oh Lord.

Glancing around fitfully, Joanna found herself the unwanted center of attention, as both lawyers and aids all seemed to be out of their office, eyes on the colorfully dressed Maureen, walking straight towards her.

"M… Maureen," she managed, teeth slightly clenched, casting a side long glance on the now gaping Mr. Finch. "How did you- when did you- what are you doing here?"

Maureen grinned, seemingly oblivious to the stares, or rather, enjoying them a bit too much. "I had an audition, I was in the neighborhood – I'm hungry."

For once, she was at a loss for words. Completely stumped. "I. You. What?"

Maureen glanced up at Mr. Finch, and with a smile stuck out her hand, smile brilliant and gleaming. "Hi! Maureen Johnson!"

Mr. Finch took the offered hand gingerly. "A pleasure, Miss Johnson."

"Maureen," Joanne interrupted, somehow able to find voice again. "Maureen-"

"You've been holding out on us, Jefferson." That came from, of course, Nicky, who damn near had an erection as he came to stand by Maureen. "I hope you wouldn't mind, Mr. Finch. I invited Joanne's guest to come along with us. It seemed only fair."

What a fucking asshole.

"Oh, I really don't think that's necessar-"

"Please, please – how could we deny such beautiful woman, right Mr. Finch?"

Maureen grinned, shrugging. "Why not?"

Mr. Finch had yet to let go of Maureen's hand, and Joanne's shoulders tightened noticeably. "Of course," he answered roughly. "Shall we?"

And thus began one of the most awkward hours of Joanne's life, in which she would be forced to sit at a three star restaurant with her boss, an asshole, and the ever loud, out of place, and completely vibrant Maureen.

Joanne dug palms into fists and watched as Mr. Finch led Maureen toward the elevators, Nicky winking at her and watching Maureen's ass, leaving her behind to consider committing murder. A few feet away, Maureen eyes caught hers, and Joanne was momentarily distracted by the brilliance in those brown orbs.

It was a lingering thought she immediately dismissed, and dragging her eyes to the floor, Joanne followed, determined to have a word with Miss Johnson as soon as she got her alone.

- end chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: Will become M eventually.  
Notes: Another how-they-met story, focusing on Joanne, trying hard to not get caught up in the hurricane of Maureen.

**--  
****Chapter 3. **

Joanne Jefferson was a self-admitted control freak. It went with her job and her life. Everything had it's place and time, and while she could aesthetically appreciate a little mess and clutter, as a whole, she felt most comfortable when she had a handle on things.

Business dinners were well planned and calculated. She rarely sat down at a lunch without doing her research before hand, knowing everything about the client from favorite wines, to their religions, sexual preference and taboo subjects. It was a skill honed from countless political dinners, where Joanne, as the model only child, was forced to sit alongside her parents, poking as politely as she could at squid and caviar and once, this absurd fermented soy bean concoction.

As a result, Joanne had learned to be comfortable with any situation presented to her, and she was grateful for it. It allowed her to connect to her clients and keep in control when buying an evicted single mother a hot dog or eating seared tuna off a fancy china plate with a senior partner.

There was something about Maureen Johnson that invited pure, utter chaos.

Joanne had had only two previous encounters with the brunette, and each one seemed more bizarre than the first. Now, with the tip of her finger twirling around the delicate stem of the champagne glass, she watched with a simmering sort of aggression, as Maureen laughed and joked with her boss and her nemesis.

It was a completely idiotic. Joanne was understandably pissed, because no sane person would ever invite themselves to lunch with someone they barely knew – particularly with their type of interaction.

And no sane person would act so entirely friendly with someone who could be so understandably pissed.

She took a delicate sip from her champagne, determined to remain clear headed. Joanne had her moments for letting go, and was told by a few of her friends that she was an incredibly fun drunk. ("You have this weird fascination for asses," Megan said to her once. "You can't stop slapping them. It's hilarious.") Still, now was not the moment to showcase that particular side, not with Maureen on one side, Nicky on the other, and Mr. Finch looking over it all like some disapproving governor.

And God help her, Maureen was actually charming. It had been a discovery she wasn't exactly thrilled to make – she was too intent on being angry. But Maureen knew how to tilt a champagne glass just so and would smile with her too wide mouth and laugh in this throaty chuckle that made Joanne's teeth clench in reaction.

"So what's Joanne really like?" Nicky asked, obstinately nosy, hidden innuendo in his tone. Joanne arched a stiff brow, but Maureen only looked at her with a smile. "It's just she's so impersonal at the office – we know more about her father than we do her."

"Her father's a damned fine man," Mr. Finch interrupted. "Saved my life during the war."

"Really? I didn't know that." Maureen said breezily. "When I was a kid I protested the war. I stood outside my parent's house with a cowbell and banged on it until my mother made me come in for dinner."

Joanne nearly choked on her champagne.

Mr. Finch's mustache shifted slightly. "Indeed."

"And then I went on a hunger strike," she continued.

"To protest the war?" Nicky asked.

Maureen glanced over, and rubbed fingers over her leather gloves, absurdly out of place on the linen place setting. "No, because I thought it would make me thinner. That and my mother had served venison. I was really not into eating Bambi."

Joanne couldn't help her sudden chortle, caught between mortification and a flash of genuine amusement, as she reached for her napkin and hid the quirk of her lips behind it.

"That's… " Nicky trailed off, obviously at a complete loss as to what to say. Instead he offered a sort of awkward toast, before taking a swig of his champagne, downing it almost like a shot.

"Well, I think I'm ready to order," Joanne said finally, picking up her menu, making it a point to look completely enthralled in the items. "The catfish looks spectacular. Mr. Finch?"

"You protested Bambi?" Mr. Finch repeated.

Maureen looked slightly confused. "No," she answered flatly. "I protested eating Bambi. But it was silly, I'm much better about what I protest now."

"Oh? And what do you protest now?" Nicky asked, as if he couldn't help himself. Biting her lower lip, Joanne had to admit she was almost curious herself. Despite herself, she was having a bit of fun taking in the glassy eyed gaping fish expression of her colleagues.

"Starbucks," Maureen answered, just as Joanne had begun to chew on a small bite of pumpernickel.

It took thirty seconds of unladylike hacking and Maureen slamming on her back to cough it back up.

--

"Starbucks?"

The word came out choked, frustrated and, when Joanne heard them coming out of her own mouth, slightly insane. There were so many other things that Joanne could have said at the moment, standing outside of the restaurant, trying hard to ignore the stern look from Mr. Finch and the wide jerk smile from Nicky as they left in their own taxi.

She could have demanded to know how Maureen had found her. She could have outlined the legal terms for stalking. She could have explained to Maureen that normal people didn't molest dispositions and protest things for no reason or had perfectly molded asses.

Instead, the only that came out, was her spit out, "Starbucks!"

"What! They come into places and the local coffee houses have no chance! They clean them out, and then these quaint family run café's are killed. Killed! Just last month they closed Fifi's!"

Joanne could only stare. "How is that relevant?"

"It's relevant because I performed there every Wednesday night!" Maureen said hotly, as if this was something she should have known. "Starbucks doesn't let you! Believe me! I've tried!"

Deciding then and there her head would explode if she didn't move, Joanne turned and dug her hands into her pockets, veering away from her and moving down the block, searching the traffic for an available taxi.

Unfortunately, Maureen fell right into step beside her. "You don't have to go back to work now, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I don't feel like going home yet."

"You don't-" Nearly stumbling, Joanne turned and finally faced Maureen. What she saw was startling: a confident, beautiful face, mouth pulled into a small pout. Fingers tugged on her sleeves, and it occurred to Joanne that she was actually being flirted with. The thought caused a rather unwelcome warm sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"Come on. Let's hang out."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Joanne made an effort to step back. "Exactly what has given you the impression that we're friends?"

"I don't think we're friends," Maureen replied. "I think we could be."

"Because we have so much in common?" Joanne asked acidly. "Maureen, you can't just show up at my office when you barely know me, and expect me to take you to lunch-"

"Of course I can. I just did." Maureen grinned, a brilliant smile that made Joanne look away once more. "Come on, I saw you smile at the table. I did."

"That's besides the point."

It was a defeated mumble, Joanne's overwhelmed spirit nearly beaten beyond recognition, as Maureen came even closer, smelling of cheap perfume and an earthy feminine scent.

"So what is the point?" came the surprisingly gentle response.

"I'm gay," she said suddenly, and the look on Maureen's face told her she clearly had said that wrong.

"Baby, I kinda figured that when you and Nicky couldn't keep your eyes off my ass when I went to the bathroom."

Joanne flushed, trying hard to ignore the fingers on her coat. "Maureen, the men I work with – they are very quick to assume things. And you showing up there –"

"Uhuh?"

"They'll think I'm sleeping with you."

Maureen leaned back, mulling the thought, and Joanne bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed.

Brown eyes studied her intently. "Fuck 'em."

A tired, wry smile turned up at the phrasing. "I don't. We just established that."

Just as the beautiful smile lit up the sharply defined features, the wind picked up, and for a brief second, Maureen Johnson looked like some sort of wild Amazonian Princess, a gorgeous haunting image, wild curls sweeping around her.

When Joanne felt light headed, she realized she had been holding her breath. It was then, she began to understand just how in trouble she really was.

-- end chapter


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: T for now, will switch to M eventually.

_Notes: Guest Starring Charisma Carpenter as Antonia Suddleson_

--  
**Chapter 4.**

Maureen was a quintessential small town wild child. She had an older brother who was married with three children and her father was an insurance man in Jersey. Her mother sold Mary Kay and on weekends had made a point to take Maureen to Brownies and Future Farmers of America, and it was due to her mother that Maureen had first fallen in love with the stage.

"She thought if she could put me in ballet, she could tame me," Maureen explained with a grin, chewing on the edge of her straw. "It didn't work. I was the only little girl in ballet who preformed her solo to Peaches and Cream."

Joanne found herself knowing much more about Maureen than she had originally intended – simply because the woman would not stop talking. Sadly, Joanne didn't seem to mind. Holding a conversation with Maureen felt a bit like trying to pet a feral cat: a little frightening and slightly exhilarating.

In fact, those two contrasting emotions could pretty much describe every encounter she had had with the brunette performance artist. Yes, that was what she was: a performance artist, which Joanne concluded, explained a whole hell of a lot.

Everything Maureen did, every gesture and wave and wiggle of her fingers or her ass, seemed primed for an audience, as if Maureen wasn't just having coffee with her, but with everyone in the café. And people noticed. Even in this yuppie corner of Madison street, Joanne could see the eyes lingering on the tight clothes and chaotic, controlled curls, the formed biceps and the ample bosom – and that ass.

Awareness of the effect Maureen had on people evoked a curious reaction inside of her – and it made her more than a little annoyed with herself.

So she blew out her breath and sucked it back in again, a way to clear her head, and uncurled her fingers from around her cup of coffee. "I should go."

It was a quiet interjection, cut into Maureen's current story about her war on Starbucks, and surprisingly, Maureen seemed to catch it. "What? Why?"

A small smile lifted into her cheeks. "Because some of us have to work, Maureen."

"Oh, okay…" Maureen wasn't a teenager anymore, but her disappointed pout was clearly high school and for some reason it amused her, the way Maureen had; being so blatantly obvious about everything. "So I'll see you again, right?"

The hopeful smile and the lingering touch on her wrist was more than enough to give her pause, and Joanne found herself confused and hating it. Once again lowering herself into her chair, she pulled her hand back and leaned forward. "Can I ask you a question?"

It was her 'lawyer' voice, firm and to the point. Brown eyes met with hers evenly.

"Sure."

"Why are you doing this?"

Maureen's lower lip was shiny and full, bitten down on by white teeth. "Doing what?"

She was being deliberately vague. Exasperated, Joanne swallowed, glancing away, before pinning her with a harder stare. "So you normally make a habit of tracking down lawyers you hardly know."

"Not really. Lawyers are uptight and boring."

Joanne was too confused to be insulted. "What?"

Maureen just grinned. Reaching to her side, she swiped a pen out of the hand of the man in the suit working beside them, with a "Hi, do you mind?" The man looked like he was going to stutter, but Maureen simply flashed a smile and suddenly leaned forward, grabbing hold of Joanne's wrist with surprisingly strong force. "Here." Spreading her palm wide, she began to etch large digits onto Joanne's skin, from the pad of her palm all the way up past her wrist to her forearm.

It was a shockingly intimate moment, and breathless, Joanne actually held still. Maureen let go, wearing a wide smile and with a wink, tossed the pen back onto the table of their neighbor.

"You know you really shouldn't leave your name and law firm on your deposition if you don't want people to know where you work." Grabbing hold of her jacket, Maureen shrugged into it, and reaching into her abandoned glass for a cube of ice, sucked it into her mouth. "Give me a call sometime," she mumbled around the ice, and just like that, left her sitting at the table.

Joanne almost smacked herself when she realized that once again, she was staring at the ass.

The phone number she had left behind was glaring and obnoxious – not tiny digits, but wide scrawls, clearly visible, with MAUREEN right above them, like she had branded her. Joanne's first impulse was to grab a napkin and douse it in the ice water.

It was a testament to her weakness that just as her hand poised over her wrist, ready to wipe the mark off, she froze.

"Dammit," she swore, and immediately threw the napkin to the side, pulling her blazer on and gathering her briefcase together. When the man beside her only stared, she only shook her head angrily. "You don't want to know."

--

It wasn't as if Joanne Jefferson was FALLING for Maureen Johnson. It was absolutely impossible to even consider something like that, because she had only met the woman three times, and who fell in love with someone after only meeting them three times?

Cindy, her last girlfriend, had been a graduate of Yale. A fellow lawyer, they had met when Joanne had to take on a sexual harassment suit for Mr. Finch, and Cindy, representing her opponent, had been brilliant and sassy and smart. Joanne had worked hard to win that case, and when it was done, she couldn't help but come over and congratulate the other lawyer for her incredibly solid work. They had gone out for drinks, found themselves very compatible, and within in a month, considered themselves exclusive.

The relationship had lasted two months longer than the good sex had, six months, and they had parted amicably. Joanne still considered her a friend.

That was love – the supportive caring relationship that was built upon mutual admiration, having things in common, being able to look across the table and see someone exactly like her – someone with the same goals and opportunities, compatible in every way.

This… attraction for Maureen that had flared up because of a smile and a damned good ass, was not love.

And Joanne was an idiot for even letting the thought and denial flash through her head.

It was completely uncalled for, and Joanne tried three times on the way back to the office to rubbed Maureen's damned name off her forearm and palm. She got as far as rubbing off the M before she gave up with a growl.

"Women," she snapped at the taxi driver, who gave her an odd look.

He nodded in commiseration.

--

Coming into her office was like a soldier going into war, and Joanne prepared herself as such. She walked in with a straight back and a near glare on her face, and anyone who knew her even in the slightest knew better than the comment about her colorful guest.

Sure, there were stares, but Joanne could handle stares, and when she swept past Nicky's office, he barely had a chance to poke his head out and offer a sneer before she was already around the corner.

"Any messages?" she asked, when Steve was in sight. Already he was up and out of his cubicle, rounding the wall with her and following her into her office.

"Just one," he said, formality gone as he plopped into the chair in front of her. "Billy Joel called. He wants his girlfriend back."

A wave of frustration rolled its way up her spine. "Shut up."

"Seriously – who was that?"

"That was…" Joanne sighed, two fingers pinched on the bridge of her nose, trying hard to figure out how to describe the woman. "Maureen."

"Maureeeen," he replied, sounding out the word. "She's hot."

He got a glare in response. "Steven, it's not like that." But she was inappropriately warm, and began to shrug her blazer off. "Can you call Maintenance and see what the hell is wrong with the AC? It's a damned furnace in here."

"Seems fine to me."

"Do I pay you to disagree with me?"

He grinned, a Cheshire cat smile. "So will we be seeing more of Maureen?" When she glared again, he smiled, ready to go on when the door banged open.

"Jefferson!"

Scrambling to his feet, Steve nearly toppled over the chair. "Mr. Finch!"

Joanne was past the point of shock. Crossing her arms, she merely greeted her boss with a nod, tired smile frozen when he stepped into her office with an attractive woman dressed in a sharp, expensive suit.

"Back from lunch with your friend?" he asked, as if it weren't completely obvious.

"Yes sir," she answered, eyeing Steve as he ducked around Mr. Finch and got the hell out of her office. Traitor. "Sorry for the delay-"

"Never mind, never mind," he said, in a tone that clearly indicated it was a problem and she would be hearing from him later. "Meet Ms. Antonia Suddleson."

Smiling politely, Joanne extended her right hand, and it wasn't until Antonia, who reached forward with a warm smile herself, looked oddly at her wrist did she realize that 'MAUREEN' was still sketched in black ink over the pale cocoa skin.

It was mortifying.

There was a moment of awkward silence, where Mr. Finch became a whole new shade of pink, and Antonia elegantly let go of the graffiti-d hand and said with a grin, "Busy morning?"

Flushing, Joanne quickly began to turn down the sleeves, sliding buttons through cuffs. "You could say that."

"Yes.. well…" Mr. Finch was apparently at a loss for words, but to his credit, recovered quickly. "Ms. Suddelson is considering the firm to represent a case of hers."

"My brother has recently been diagnosed with AIDS, and fired," she explained a grimace on her face. "Needless to say, it's a difficult situation. I have the resources to make a statement, and I plan to."

"That's a delicate issue," Joanne said, frown curving her mouth down. "Very high profile."

"Yes," she agreed, "We're considering our options, but… there's no reason my brother should be told when to stop living earlier than his body tells him to."

Pushing hands into the pockets of her fitted black pin stipe pants, Joanne found herself nodding, taking in the rich hazel eyes of the woman across from her.

"It's an admirable stance to take."

"Mr. Finch tells me you share my opinion. I've read about your pro bono work. It's impressive."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Thank you. That's refreshing to hear. Some people consider it slumming."

"I think you're smart enough to know the difference."

A moment, a smile, and then Mr. Finch was clearing his throat. "Well, Ms. Suddelson, I have one more lawyer I'd like you to meet. He specializes with high profile cases and is very good at what he does."

Nodding, she stepped back, and before stepping out of her office, offered a secret sort of smile that Joanne couldn't help but return.

Reaching up to straighten her tie, she caught sight of the edge of black letters, smudged on her palm.

--  
Joanne lived in a small one bedroom loft style apartment, barely maintainable on her salary, but roomier than most. She considered it a haven, had bought the space because of light that was let in that seemed almost clean. She pictured herself lounging on the fuzzy carpet she had bought with a good book and a nice bottle of wine, basking in the light drifting in from the large windows. She pictured candlelit dinners and a romantic dance across the polished wood floor.

Truthfully she came home nowadays with take out, barely looking at the moonlight, too tired to do anything but read the briefs she hadn't gotten to and wash the grime off of her.

There was usually a voicemail from her mother or her father, usually encouraging words and masked questions about her private life, wondering how she could be seeing no one if she was never home.

Sinking into her couch, Joanne kicked off the heels that she had worn today in favor of the much more comfortable doc martins she had opted for in the early days, and considered the black smudges on her arm.

It had taken a good bit of scrubbing in the woman's rest room to try and get them off, and still, the shadow of the numbers and the name were still there.

"What the hell kind of pen did that girl use?" she mused, before she sighed again and looked at the blinking light of the answering machine.

_("I always leave an impression," Maureen joked when she heard the story months later, and then paused, as if waiting for the 'Badumpbump!' before she burst into laughter.)_

Reaching over, she hit the button, hearing her messages rewind. Alone in the darkness, Joanne closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the couch, and let the words wash over her.  
_  
_"Darling, it's your mother. Your father heard from Mr. Finch and told us you had lunch with an interesting girl. She must be a pro bono case, right? Call us when you can, sweetie_. BEEEEP."_

"Girl? It's Cindy. Call me back NOW – we're all going to go drinking tomorrow night and you HAVE to be there. Don't give me any of that 'I have to work' crap, okay? Oh, and what's this about you dating some hot actress? _BEEEEEP."_

"Hi… Ms. Jefferson- Joanne. I hope you don't mind – Mr. Finch instructed your assistant to give me your number. I'd like to have you work on my case, if you have the time. Maybe we could have lunch and discuss it? Your assistant has my number. _BEEEP. You have no more messages_."

Joanne's eyes opened and she stared hard at the answering machine. Reaching forward deliberately, she grabbed hold of the phone and deliberately began to dial, tongue at the roof of her mouth.

The phone rang, and rang, and suddenly there was a click and the word, "SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK."

Speechless, Joanne simply put the phone back in its cradle.

"What are you doing?" she asked herself, and pushed off the couch, heading for bed. She was determined to sleep this off.

-- end chapter


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: T for now, will switch to M eventually.

Notes: Guest Starring Charisma Carpenter as Antonia Suddleson, Leisha Hailey as Cindy, and Eden Riegel as Megan

--

**Chapter 5.**

Antonia Suddleson had rich hazel eyes and glossy brunette hair that cascaded down her neck with a nice delicate sheen. She was a former upper middle class child who was now 'new money', or her father was – he had gotten involved early with compact discs, and it was an investment that so far appeared to be paying off. 

Antonia had two sisters and a brother – the rebellious middle child who had attended college in the seventies and protested the war, resulting in two arrests for public disturbance, before she calmed down and took a VP job with her father's manufacturing company. She was closest to her twin brother, Hector, who had been a rising ad executive at a New York firm until he had been outed as being HIV positive and then fired.

Currently, she was single. 

The facts were typed and put together in Joanne's brown folder, and she glanced them over again, as movement across the crowded delicatessen alerted her to the woman in question, fussing with an umbrella.

Always polite to potential clients, Joanne got to her feet, arm extended to greet the flustered woman, who flashed an almost pained smile back.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Antonia said, shrugging off her trenchcoat and draping it over the empty chair beside her. "You know New York traffic, and with the rain-"

"It never rains but it pours," Joanne offered good-naturedly. The other woman sighed, flashing a bright, grateful grin. "Please, sit."

Settling down, Antonia went to work quickly unbutton her vest, revealing a modestly low cut green blouse that did wonders with her eyes, making them almost green. "I was so glad to get your call. As soon as I hung up with your answering machine I realized I had completely forgotten to give my name, and the last thing I wanted was to make you think I was so completely arrogant that I would assume you would know who I was-"

Biting her lower lip, Joanne leaned forward, one hand over the other woman's, cutting her off. Apparently Antonia was a rambler.

"Trust me, its fine. I knew who you were."

That at least, seemed to get a relieved, genuine smile. "Sorry – I just… I really want you on this case and I'd hate you to think-"

"I don't," Joanne assured her, and then settled back in her chair, a conscious cue for the other woman to relax. Glancing down at the menu, she lifted her hand and quirked her finger, determined to at least offer the nervous woman a glass of wine.

She was being studied, observed and taking a sip of her water, Joanne straightened her shoulders, more than used to the scrutiny. But the level of intensity that was currently being offered didn't feel the same as the same appraising look she had received from her male clients. She wondered if the sentiment wasn't overtly sexist in nature, and the thought disturbed her.

Joanne was an attractive woman, she believed that. But her beauty, she had been told, was subtle. She was never one to turn heads or crash cars in the street, and the clothes she wore, at least during working hours, were largely of a conservative nature. Her suit and ties were a statement, the short skirts that she sometimes wore stated that she wasn't afraid of being a female, the ties that were almost always colorfully present indicated she was prepared to be as aggressive as any of the men. It wasn't about beauty – it was about work.

"So Mr. Finch tells me your father saved his life during the war," Antonia said, one hand cupping her neck. "That must be a fun story."

Maybe she was reading it wrong – it certainly wasn't something that happened every day. And in another situation, Joanne would have been happy to charmingly indulge an attractive woman with stories of her father and his over inflated war stories. But Joanne was here to discuss her HIV positive brother – not Mr. Finch, her father, or fun stories.

It evoked a different mindset, and now, perhaps thanks to the rather unstable roller coaster with a certain performance artist that lingered in her mind and somehow seemed determined to disrupt it, she wasn't in the mood.

"May I ask you a question?"

There was a pause, before hazel eyes floated down to the menu and a manicured nail followed the items with her hand. "Sure."

"Exactly why did you want me on this case?"

The question was abrupt, and to her credit, Antonia looked genuinely confused. "Because I hear you're very good."

Joanne was narcissic enough not to contest that. "Before we go any further, I think I should explain to you some things about myself that might affect the outcome of this case."

An arched eyebrow lifted. "Meaning." 

"Meaning I'm gay," she said, watching carefully for any visible reaction to the statement. Antonia's eyes flickered down, then back up. "And I don't hide that. To attach an openly gay lawyer to this sort of case would make the matter-"

"I hired you because you were gay," she interrupted smoothly. 

"Look, Ms. Suddleson-"

"There are very few lawyers out there with the, pardon the expression, balls to stand up for what they believe in. The fact that you're willing to stand by yourself in an area not many are willing to go says to me that you won't back away from this case. My brother isn't a saint. In fact, he's kind of an asshole, who spent the majority of his nights canoodling men. But he's a damned good advertising exec, and now, thanks to this disease, it was all he had left. I know this case is almost impossible to win – I need someone who knows the odds." 

_Canoodling?_ Joanne closed her eyes, suddenly very tired. Releasing her breath, she sank deeper in her chair, fingers on her temple. "And I'm a sucker for lost causes."

A slow, brilliant grin creased Antonia's face. "I would say you've got the stock to make things happen," she quipped, a teasing spark in her tone. "After all, your father saved Mr. Finch's life during the war."

--

"Okay, let me get this straight." Cindy, who had decided to go ultra chic lately and wear her brown curls cropped close to her head, had wide eyes and an expressive face. When she got drunk, she also tended to revert to her Southern accent, which made everything absurdly slurred. She also would start calling everyone 'Darlin', 'Sweetheart', 'Honey' and on one memorable occasion, 'Toots'. "You're getting the biggest case that you've ever had practically thrown into your lap. Your client is a really hot girl who is flirtin' with you. And this isn't one your little pro-bono cases, so that all the ass hauling you're doin' – that's gonna get you paid? Darlin' – where is the downside!"

"Is this about that actress?" Megan asked, wide-eyed behind her banana daiquiri.

Joanne could barely suppress her groan, made easier by the second martini already making it's way through her blood stream. "There IS NO actress."

"I thought there was an actress," Megan mumbled, staring hard into her banana daiquiri. "I need more rum in here."

"There is a woman named Maureen – she stopped by the office once, and apparently that means to everyone that I'm sleeping with her."

"Well, are you?" Cindy asked pointedly. Joanne glared, but Megan only glanced up, intently curious.

"No." Sighing, Joanne licked her lips. "I don't even – when did I become the point of conversation?"

"Oh, you know what? It wouldn't matter anyway – Joanne would do the same thing she always does – get tired of her and chuck her." Joanne pressed her lips together, and drained her martini.

"You're such a bitter drunk."

"Oh, it's true!" Cindy snapped. "Honey, I fucked you – I know you. You find these amazing woman who are perfect in every way – the right career, the right color, the right education, and you chuck 'em."

"Mmhmm," Megan replied, fascinated by her little umbrella on top of her drink. "You chuck' em."

"That's not true." 

"Oh, it's true," Cindy insisted, "Face it Darlin'. You get bored, and God help the woman who loves you." 

Joanne closed her eyes. Had she been sober, she would have taken offense. As fate would have it, she was on her way to getting good and drunk, and her reaction was a simple roll of her eyes. 

"You know what?" Megan said, "It makes sense. She gets bored. It's why we're slumming."

"We're slumming!" Cindy agreed, and held up her empty wine glass for the bartender to see. "Joanne likes to go slumming for her kicks."

That was enough to make her eyes blink open. "What!"

"Honey, only you would drag us halfway across town to someplace seedy for a friggin' margarita." 

She opened her mouth, and closed it again, shoulders straightened as she looked at the crowded group of Bohemians interacting around them. "It's a martini. And this place has character!"

It did have character. It wasn't suffocating and pretentious. There was a warm feel to it, despite the rowdy crowd, and sipping on her third martini (apple, because she liked it to have a bit of a bite with her kick), Joanne could scan the crowd, peer at the regulars, and not look for a girl with brunette locks and a too wide grin.

"This place has roaches!" Megan murmured, and shuddered. "Can we go soon? Let's go to that girl bar! The one with the dancers!"

"Do you really think we broke up because I was bored?" Joanne interrupted, eyes swiveling back to Cindy.

Cindy's eyes narrowed, and her mouth pursed. "Darlin', not just me. What about Tabitha?" 

"Mmhmm. And Kiki," Megan added.

"Kiki was not my fault!" Joanne snapped, nearly slipping off her chair.

"Yes, it was, snotty rich girl." Cindy smiled grandly at the bartender, peering closely at his pierced nose. "Excuse me, how do you blow your nose?"

"Oh, God."

"How rude," Megan said suddenly, loud over the noise of the music mingled with laughter. "Someone ate all the cashews out of the mixed nuts bowl!"

"Joanne, why the hell are we here?"

Joanne was seriously starting to ask that question herself. Glancing down at her half full martini, she took in her well dressed, professional, lesbian friends, and then let her gaze slip over the random, rambunctious, colorful crowd. 

What the hell was she doing?

"You know what? Fine. Let's go."

"Oh, thank God." Megan looked visibly relieved, reaching for her Kate Spade purse. "Eating all the cashews? That's just rude!"

"Something is seriously wrong with you, Joanne," Cindy mumbled, making sure to gulp the last of her wine.

Joanne wasn't particularly inclined to disagree, folding her black coat into her hands, and pushing the martini glass away. Turning in her chair, she was digging in her purse for an appropriate tip when a warm hand settled on her knee.

"I almost didn't recognize you without your scowl and your tie."

Rendered suddenly speechless, Joanne's mouth flapped open, eyes dragging from the bright eyes, past the red lipstick, down the strong biceps to the hand pressed against her knee.

"Mmmhmm," she heard tersely. "I think I know what's wrong with her."

It was then she realized she was letting in flies. Snapping her mouth shut, she coughed, trying to bring life back into her voice. "Maureen!" 

Maureen arched an eyebrow, and laughed. "Joanne!" 

"What are you doing here?" Joanne asked, and as soon as the words left her mouth, flushed in embarrassment. It was an insanely stupid question to ask.

"Um… I live here?" Maureen shrugged and nearly giggled. "Okay, not in the bar, but around here. You're not leaving already, are you?" she continued, apparently noting the way Joanne's jacket was half on, hand still buried in her purse.

Oddly, Joanne couldn't answer. She blinked, speechless, and finally, glanced back at her friends. For some reason, she was surprised to see they were still there, greedily taking in every stupid reaction.

"She's staying," Megan said suddenly, scooting off her chair, pulling Cindy with her. "You don't mind, do you Jo? We've got an early start, and I'm already starting to get tipsy-"

"Meg-" 

But Megan was already waving, winking absurdly and nearly tripping Cindy, dragging her through the crowd. For her part, Cindy looked much less enthused.

"For a hot actress she's not that hot-" Joanne heard distinctly, before Cindy was swallowed up by the teeming bodies of Bohemians.

It had to have been the liquor, simmering inside of her, mingling with her blood and making her slightly heady. It could have been that Maureen smelled of cheap strawberry shampoo, or that pout on her face, or the fact that her palm was still pressed on her knee.

"I'm not that hot!"

Joanne knew what liquor did to her. It made her mellow, less inhibited. She could blame it on the liquor if she felt like it. But Joanne knew what she was doing when she covered her darker palm over the pale one, curling fingers around a smooth wrist. 

It was enough to distract Maureen, and dark eyes studied the contrast of fingers, and then moved up, connecting intensely with her own. A slow, seductive grin seemed to match hers.

"I take it you don't agree?"

"Not in the least," Joanne agreed huskily. Fingers manipulated the hand held captive in her own, until her thumb slid against the delicate flesh just inside the wrist, stroking at a sensitive spot.

Maureen was bold, intense, and never taking eyes off of her, the other woman pushed their entwined hands off her lap, and slowly, deliberately, settled herself over Joanne's blue jeans.

There was a warm heat to her that made Joanne breathless, and when Maureen looked down at her, fingers rubbing against bare shoulders, she found her eyes lingering on the red, red mouth.

"You came looking for me, didn't you?" Maureen whispered. "Say it."

Joanne didn't. She wouldn't. Instead she simply closed the distance between them, a fevered pant against soft lips.

It ripped a moan out of Maureen's throat, and the sound sent a tantalizing thrill through her, head tilting and tongue dipping firmly inside. She was surrounded by warmness, from the legs straddling her lap to the arms clutching her shoulders, the mouth pressed heatedly to her own.

And as quickly as it had begun, it ended, the woman who so willingly had placed herself on her lap was now scrambling off of it.

Dazed, Joanne stayed put, as Maureen, red lipstick smudged, continued to simply look at her, with an odd unreadable expression.

"What?" she asked, demanding and firm in her drunkenness.

But Maureen simply shook her head and offered a shaky smile. "Nothing, baby. You're a helluva kisser," and with that turned, shoving through the crowd that Joanne realized, had been hooting at the display. 

Joanne was left behind, face smudged lewdly with red lipstick that wasn't her own, head ringing, and heart pounding.

--   
end chapter


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: The next chapter will be M, so we'll be changing the rating appropriately.  
Notes: Thanks for the feedback. I hope you stick with me. :-D

--

**Chapter 6.**

"I was just... hoping that the conversation we had, could be over dinner."

Joanne wasn't a pessimist, exactly. While she wasn't the most positive person in her circle, she wasn't overwhelmingly negative either. She preferred to think of herself as rational: a realist. That was the mindset she needed to be a lawyer. She couldn't build a case on pipe dreams, she took what was there and made it evidence, irrefutable and beyond all reasonable doubt.

The facts were that every encounter with Maureen had been bizarre and left her more bewildered than before. That Maureen was certifiably insane. That she knew next to nothing about the girl, other than the fact that her parents were small town and Maureen lived to make a scene. That the one drunken kiss they shared had been cut short, in full view of a hooting public, and Joanne was sure that it had been just as much for their benefit as it was for her.

Those were the facts: cut and dry. None of it added up to anything that was healthy or good for her.

Perhaps that was why the fact that the woman had taken up complete residence in her head was so damned infuriating.

"Joanne?"

Her eyes lifted, settled on the woman across from her. "Yes?"

She had been left in a seedy bar on her own, flushed and turned on and half drunk and feeling like a fool, and things like that just did not HAPPEN to Joanne Jefferson. Yes, she was sometimes insecure, and yes, there were moments during childhood where she had been especially awkward, particularly during the whole coming out process, but she pushed through it. She never made apologies for who she was, she knew who she was, was damned impressive. She followed through and never backed down, always got what she wanted, when she really wanted it. And she knew when to give up a fight – when something wouldn't work.

She shouldn't have wanted to finish what had started so badly. She should have recognized, she DID recognize, that it simply would not WORK and because of that, cut her losses and moved on.

Instead, she was staring into startling hazel eyes, and closing her eyes silent frustration, because they weren't green and she desperately wanted them to be.

"Something wrong?"

Antonia had genuine concern in her voice, the palm on top of hers was lingering more than it ought to have, and Joanne thought she looked particularly attractive in the designer cut of the suit.

But for reason, all Antonia's subtle flirtations brought on, despite her being smart and attractive and funny, was irritation.

"You seem... distracted."

Joanne told herself it was because Antonia seemed more intent on scoring a date than worrying about her brother's case.

"I'm fine," she answered shortly, leaning back in the dark leather chair, crossing legs, shirt rolled up to her elbows, one finger settled against her temple, studying her client. "Is the office not comfortable for you?"

Antonia looked startled, but she shrugged slightly, glancing around it. "It's all right, I guess. I just figured, you know, since you and I seem to get along, that maybe a more personal –" Joanna glanced down, and Antonia's lips pressed together, losing steam. "- friendship. Might be... I was hoping for..." An awkward sigh, and Joanne watched the other woman shrug almost meekly.

With a rush of air, she tried to clear her head, and tented her fingers together, her voice curt, professional. "Antonia, I'm happy to be your lawyer – but in order to do that, I can't be your friend. Not on a case that as sensitive as this."

"I don't agree." She arched an eyebrow, and waited, allowing Antonia to continue. Straightening, the woman seemed to gain some of her confidence back. "My brother and I need someone that we trust. That we like."

"I agree with you," Joanne assented, curls bobbing slightly as she leaned forward. "But what you want from me is to win this case. I have to be able to concentrate on that. There's no time for anything else. In a public forum, image matters, and it's a detriment to my status and it weakens your case if I'm seen as anything than your lawyer."

It was a carefully worded answer, said as sincerely as she could, dark eyes meeting green, never glancing away. She wasn't sure if Antonia was actively gay, fishing or had one foot in each pond, but she could take away from that what she pleased.

And she did. Antonia crossed her arms, settling into the chair comfortably, smile lilting up almost as if she were let in some sort of secret. "You're determined. I like that. I'm very much the same way."

Joanne simply bit back a sigh, and glancing down at the mound of papers scattered on her desk, went back to work.

--

"Jefferson!"

An irritated shiver rolled up her spine, and palms clenching involuntarily, Joanne mourned the closing elevator door, leaving her behind. Pasting on a strained smile, she turned to meet Mr. Finch.

"Good evening, Mr. Finch."

"Heading home?" he asked, in that very annoying way he had of questioning the obvious. Joanne simply nodded, buttoned up in her black trench coat, and politely waited as he pressed the button, leaving them both standing side by side. "How's that Suddleson case coming?"

"Slowly," she answered honestly. "It's an uphill battle, Mr. Finch. As well intentioned as Ms. Suddleson is, her brother sees it differently."

"Oh?"

"He doesn't want to be a cause. He has enough money to live comfortably for the time he has left."

"Hmmm..." Mr. Finch clucked his tongue, obviously letting that sink in. "This is a big case, Jefferson."

"Yes, sir."

"Lots of publicity – lots of meaning for the firm." The elevators opened, and together they stepped inside, Joanne's lips pressed together so hard she was sure they had lost any color they had. Mr. Finch waited a moment, as the doors closed, locking her inside. "I'm going to be honest with you, Jefferson. Some of the partners thought it was a liability to have you head this case."

_Well, shit._ Her jaw clenched, and despite the simmering anger in her blood, Joanne managed to hold still and not swing her briefcase upside his head. "I appreciate your trust in me, sir."

Mr. Finch let the statement go, waiting a moment before he filled the silence with, "Image is important, Jefferson. Case like this, how you represent this firm means everything. They're going to be looking for any reason to get you off this case – any aspect of your life."

Trying to edge out the words without grinding her teeth, she though her face would crack from the plastic smile, "I understand, sir."

"Good, good. How's that Maureen?"

Licking her lips, Joanne stared straight ahead, and ignored the sick feeling that flooded into her stomach. "I wouldn't know, Sir. I haven't seen her in quite some time."

He finally turned, and looked at her, a dark, piercing stare. Nodding, he turned back, letting out a big sigh. "You're a chip off the ole' block Jefferson. I know you'll do me proud."

Slamming a hand on her shoulder, he smiled at her, and as the doors open, exited.

Confined in the small elevator, Joanne stayed behind. Her eyes drifted shut, and she nearly screamed.

--

Pressure had turned into a near migraine, and Joanne's mood darkened the longer she stewed about her day. It sat with her on the subway home, her heels driving into the sidewalk resonated in tiny clicks that felt like knives digging into her brain. She was tired and sour and finally arriving at her apartment, it was well after dark.

The last thing she wanted was to turn her corner and find her own personal Achilles Heel slouched against her door.

The surprise knocked the breath out of her, and for a moment, Joanne could only stare, as Maureen, at the moment chewing on a piece of her hair, glanced up and met her gaze. Scrambling up, the infuriating Bohemian pressed her hands into her back pockets, looking scrappy and out of place with her black ensemble in her pristine offwhite hallway.

"Hi."

Of course. Of course this would be the end to a perfectly fucked up day.

Sucking in a short, annoyed hiss, Joanne finally just let her posture drop, unsure why she was surprised at all. "What are you doing here?" she asked sharply.

Maureen chewed her bottom lip, somehow vulnerable and innocent despite being the complete maelstrom Joanne knew her to be. "I didn't think you'd take my calls," Maureen said finally, bring her shoulders together in a simple shrug. "And you haven't showed up in the bar or the café. The last time I turned up at your office you nearly exploded."

"So the logical conclusion was to crash in my hallway?"

"If I wanted to see you," Maureen said, and a small, mischievous smile floated on her face, as if the ridiculousness of all this was somehow supposed to make it all okay. "I got Steve to tell me where you live and-"

"Good," Joanne answered shortly, suddenly propelled to move forward, pushing past Maureen and fumbling with her keys. "Since you and Steve are so close, you can also tell him that he's fired."

"Joanne, baby, come on." Keys jangled, and Joanne's hands trembled suddenly when a warm body hovered behind her, lightly tantalizing. The shiver she felt was suddenly arousal, and her eyes closed involuntarily, suddenly furious at her own reaction. Still, she allowed it, allowed the hand to encircle her waist, felt the pressure of heat gently envelope her from behind, breath against her ear. "Let me make it up to you." Joanne's key froze, stuck in the lock. "I know it's you that's been calling, hanging up." She shuddered, a low groan of anger releasing from her. "Come on – let me stay the night, let me prove to you how sorry I am I didn't finish what you started."

Technicalities could be argued, and Joanne's lawyer mentality wanted to state that she really believed it was Maureen that started this whole thing, but then warm lips and a velvet tongue pressed against the long column of her neck, flinging coherent thought away from her.

And still... even as possessive hands smoothed into her trench coat, and lips brushed across her jaw, closer and closer to her mouth, she couldn't resist a simple question.

"Why are you doing this?"

Maureen paused, and Joanne used the last of her dying reserve to delicately untangle herself, turn in Maureen's arms and face her, take in the dark, simmering eyes and the full lips.

A small, intoxicating smile. "Does it matter?"

It did matter. It should have mattered. The events that had transpired throughout the day had made one theme abundantly clear: this, whatever the hell this was, wasn't a good idea. It was the worst idea.

But Maureen's hands had slunk into her trench coat, and now her thumbs were beneath her blazer, skimming small, distracting circles. Joanne's hands smoothed up against a pale, soft cheek, and when Maureen turned her head, sucked a questing thumb into a warm, moist mouth, Joanne knew there was only one way this night would end.

Shuddering at the look of wanton desire on Maureen's face, Joanne decided that for once, the reasoning behind this didn't matter.

Pulling her finger away from Maureen's mouth, she wrapped hands forcefully around the nape of Maureen's neck and tangled fingers in dark curls, jerking hard and rough, until her mouth was pressing hungrily against the other woman's, hand fumbling behind her for the door.

If she was going to hell, she was damn well going to rock Maureen's world first.

--  
_end chapter_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Email: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for sexual situations between two women.

**Chapter 7. **

Pale alabaster skin lay against soft cocoa, and Joanne found herself fascinated with the contrast. Even with the small amount of moonlight filtering through her blinds, she could still perceive the different in tone, the rich depth of color.

Joanne's senses enveloped her after sex, and she reveled in it now: the pungent sweet smell of their shared arousal, the full silence present in the aftermath of grunts and groans, curses and shouts, the feel of velvet skin, sticky with sweat and other fluids in some places, always soft and firm beneath her questing fingertips, the sight of a beautiful woman in her bed, wearing that intense vulnerable expression that only came after being so deeply inside her.

The taste, of a hard nipple beneath a moist tongue, of Maureen's own sex, surprisingly sweet, with a bit of a kick, as if even in this, the most intimate of acts, she was intent to remind herself of who it was in her bed.

All of it came together in a rich intoxicating blend, and Joanne savored it like she savored nothing else, in the quiet blissful moments after pleasure, when hearts still pounded and the intimacy was tangible.

Satisfaction came in the soft shallow pant of her lover, when brown eyes locked on her own, and feminine hands curled over a naked shoulder. Maureen was beautiful, wanton, and Joanne's hand curved over the flat plane of the stomach, spread possessively over her abdomen, massaging lightly.

"Tell me something." The soft whisper carried through the air, fingers skimmed along her bicep. Rising to her elbow, Joanne curled a hand over a hipbone of the woman who had just spoken.

"What do you want me to say?"

A smile gently spread on the angular face, faded and somehow more vibrant than Maureen's usual smirk.

"Anything," came the rough answer, as an intense gaze followed Maureen's incessant hand, drifting from her shoulder to the curve of her neck, and lower still. "Everything."

Maureen was an artist who lived in experience. Because of that, Joanne bit her lip and held still, even as Maureen's fingers raked across her left breast.

"That could take forever."

Their eyes connected, and somehow, Joanne got the idea Maureen didn't seem to mind the prospect.

It was a frightening realization: the fact that at the moment, neither did she.

"My dad's a lawyer," she began finally, "who drifted into politics. He hopes to run for Governor someday. My mother is a judge with Supreme Court aspirations. They're good people and I love them."

Maureen's fingers stilled, eyelids lowered, and then lifted again. "And you? You decided to be like Daddy? Just like that? The bigtime lawyer?"

She smiled, a half grimace. "It wasn't ever a choice. I always knew I'd be like them. I knew it wasn't very... hip... Career-wise, the most rebellious thing I did was flirt with working for LegalAid."

A soft exhalation, and Joanne tented her leg over the smooth, long leg beside her, feeling the calf curl around hers, drawing her in further.

"And besides being a stuffy lawyer? Don't tell me you never gave your parents some grief."

Quirking an eyebrow, Joanne grinned. "Because being a big ole' lesbian isn't enough of a headache for them?"

A small shot of pain from her left nipple, making Joanne grunt slightly, flared in retaliation. "I never really cared what my parents thought," Maureen mused openly, abandoning Joanne's breast for her waist, moving around her curves with deceptive gentleness. "I never care what anyone thinks."

"That's a lie," Joanne murmured, cheek resting on her open palm, studying the naked body before her. "You need to be worshiped. You're narcissism at its finest." It was said almost lovingly, and the teasing, little girl smile it evoked told Joanne Maureen did not take offense.

"Is that so wrong?"

"I didn't say it was wrong." Joanne stared at the beautiful breasts, the sparking eyes and swollen mouth, the tantalizing dark shadow between her thighs. "As long as there are people willing to do the worshipping."

As if to prove her point, she bent her head, deliberately pressing her lips to the curve of Maureen's breast, hearing the rush of breath in response, the slow rise and fall of Maureen's ribs.

"Oh, God," she heard, a ragged breath whispered above her, and hands pressed into her hair, tangling in her rough curls. She lingered on the soft swell of breast, tender and delicate, tongue laving over it to the nipple at its peak.

Joanne as a lover was always different; sometimes she was rough and hard, inflicting pain in just the right amounts. Others she was gentle, sweet: she knew the value of a slow simmer that became a roaring flame.

Maureen was curves and angles and points of pleasure. Maureen was an enigma. Maureen was soft and hard and everything in between. She was loud and she scratched and she was wanton and wild. She was quiet and reserved and she came with whimpers and sighs, minutes after she shuddered with screams and curses.

She was intoxicating, and the love Joanne made to her was pure lust and pure emotion. She fucked Maureen as if by doing so, she could figure her out, understand her and break the spell.

But as tongues tangled mercilessly and her hand buried further into moist heat, Joanne found herself captivated, breathless, and falling further, deeper than before.

--

Six A.M., and the alarm buzzed into her head like a spike driven in by a hammer. Warm weight pinned down her left side, and when by habit, she shifted with closed eyes, the embrace around her tightened, a soft mew emanating from the woman in bed beside her.

Still drugged in heavy sleep, Joanne's eyelids fluttered, reaching up to close a palm around the forearm across her chest. The alarm still buzzed.

"No," came the soft, throaty whimper, a petulant sound. There was hot breath in her ear, and the grown woman curled into her, face burying into her neck.

"BabyI'mgonnblaferwork." It was a mumble she could barely manage, as her hand betrayed her by sneaking around Maureen's bare shoulder, drawing the intoxicating form in further.

"Few more minutes." Maureen's voice was dark, seductively slurred. A kiss pressed just behind her ear, and Joanne squirmed, a delicious tingle ringing throughout her body, still sensitive from their early morning lovemaking.

The rumble, from deep within her throat, sounded like a loud purr, when a warm mouth closed over her own, tongue plunging into her with a lazy domination. Slow and languid, Maureen shifted, until the lean, muscled body blanketed Joanne's.

Her heart began to pound, and her muscles to throb, as the kiss grew deeper still, until Maureen broke away to move lips over her jaw. "You're amazing," she heard dizzily, beyond the rush of her blood racing through her veins, beyond the feel of breasts rubbing against her own, and the heated thrill that came from teeth biting down on her earlobe. "You're fucking amazing."

Fevered pants crept along her skin, and her hands buried into soft brown hair, arching into the woman on top. And Maureen went lower still.

When the alarm buzzed again, Joanne's arm flailed, knocking it over in her attempt to silence it.

--

The room was bright with morning light when once again, her eyelids squinted open.

Something kept ringing.

Maureen had curled into a fetal position, butt digging into Joanne's spine. Consequently, one half of Joanne's body was nearly hanging off the bed, fingers just lying against her carpet.

The ringing kept going.

Lifting her head, Joanne struggled to wake up, hearing the figure beside her grumble in her sleep. The phone. THE PHONE was ringing.

Struggling, she reached as far as she could, managing an index finger over the phone before holding it on to her ear.

"'lo?"

"Where are you?"

Rubbing at her face, Joanne's head fell back onto the pillow, muffling her voice. "Steve?"

"Joanne, it's 10:30. Hector and Antonia Suddelson are both in your office-"

Her head lifted off the pillow, eyes wide open. "What?"

"Where are you!"

Digging underneath her bed, Joanne blinding reached for anything, until she closed her hands around a chord and pulled, her alarm clock coming up with it.

10:34 AM.

"SHIT. I'll be right there." Flinging the phone back on the table, Joanne lost her footing and tumbled off the bed, landing on her knees. Barely registering the pain, she scrambled to her feet. "SHIT."

"Baby?" Glancing back, she discovered messy curls tumbling over a bare back, Maureen blearily blinked up at her.

It was an altogether appealing sight, and Joanne, her mind now flying at warpspeed (her geeky mind tending to speak trek when pressed), managed a moment to appreciate the sight.

"I'm late," she said simply, and then turned fast, doing her best not to look back as she moved into the shower.

The fact that Maureen didn't join her was both a disappointment and a relief, as she watched the smell of sex off of her, ignoring the shudder of her still sensitive body as she rubbed vigorously, stepping out five minutes after she stepped in. There was nothing she could do about her hair, but luckily for her, despite being flatter than usual, her curls were somewhat presentable.

She wasn't expecting coffee brewing or breakfast being made; honestly, she was expecting Maureen still in her bed, having rolled over and fallen asleep because quite simply, she could.

But to have Maureen up and already using her phone was enough to startle her. In her towel, she leaned against the bedroom door, watching as Maureen, back to her, sat naked on her bed, hand pressing her telephone to her ear.

At first, the sight was endearing. Joanne, despite the lingering shout in her head that told her to GET DRESSED, paused, took it in. But her smile faded when the words Maureen was speaking, a low, fervent tone, became clear.

There was a 'Marky' and a 'Baby, I know', and something about a fight involving a 'junkie best friend', and just like that, the pieces, the 'why' of this whole night, came together for her.

Joanne was a lawyer, and a damned good one at that. The pieces fit, and the conclusions she made hit her like a sucker punch.

She suddenly wanted Maureen out.

Clearing her throat loudly, she waited as Maureen whirled, staring wide eyed at her stone face.

Hesitating, Maureen only took her in, as Joanne allowed one scathing glare before she pushed off the side of the doorway and moved into the bedroom, shedding her robe as she went.

"Do you mind? I'm very late for work."

She had already wasted enough of her time.

"That's no one," Maureen said into Joanne's telephone, and Joanne just shook her head, determined not to wince. "Seriously, Marky. She's a friend who let me spend the night. Mark, I'm not talking about this. No- look I'll see you later."

There was a silence that Joanne was determined not to break when Maureen hung up the phone. Poised, collected, Joanne opened her closet and pulled out a pressed suit, flinging it on the bed, whisping by Maureen.

"Okay," Maureen erupted, and Joanne paused slightly, enough to close her eyes and inhale sharply, before continuing, moving to her dresser and pulling out clean underwear and a bra. "I should have told you." Joanne didn't respond. "I didn't because at first it didn't seem to matter. And then, and then it did matter, and I knew that if I told you you'd be upset, and I didn't want you to be upset-"

"Do me a favor and get dressed, will you?" Joanne asked sharply, undergarments on, heading for her slacks.

"And then last night happened and it was amazing-"

Joanne exhaled raggedly. "If I had known last night was about you finding a place to crash I wouldn't have let you in the damned door."

Maureen bit her lip. "I know. That's why I didn't tell you."

"Get out."

"Joanne-"

"You could have been honest, Maureen!" Joanne exploded, one hand in her shirt, halfway on. "I'd have offered the damn couch."

"I didn't want the couch, I wanted you."

Joanne jerked away from Maureen's intense stare. Shirt on, she tucked in and buttoned up, slinging her suspenders over her shoulders.

"Joanne, baby-"

"Don't you 'baby' me."

"Joanne, why does it matter!" Maureen grabbed hold of her, and Joanne shut her eyes and clenched her teeth, hands at her throat, keeping her from tying her tie. The warm heat of a lover curled against her, breathless whisper filled her thoughts like a devil perched on her shoulder. "It doesn't change what happened last night. I could have gone to ten different places last night, if I wanted a fast fuck to forget about Mark. I didn't. I came to you."

"Let me go," she whispered, and it was almost a beg, a plead with Maureen. Her control was whisper shot, and Joanne was late for a meeting on the case of her life, and had spent all night making love to a straight girl who had decided to fool around for kicks. And still, STILL Joanne wanted to forget all of it and push her down on the bed again, make her forget all about her damned 'Marky'.

She held her breath until Maureen finally released her, and with a shaky exhalation, Joanne fumbled with her tie, until it was halfway passable, pulling on her blazer and headed for the door, ignoring the naked woman in her room.

Pausing just outside, she pressed her hand on the door, and glanced at her shoes. "Stop calling me, Maureen. Stop trying to see me. I don't know what you're doing or why you're doing it, but please, just stop."

Deep silence followed her request, and swallowing hard, Joanne nodded slowly, and prepared to go.

"Would it even matter if I did?" Frozen, Joanne tried desperately not to turn, give Maureen the attention she needed. She did it anyway, to see a hurt, stone expression, as if to damn Joanne for having the audacity to object to the situation. "Don't tell me I wouldn't see you in a week at that bar, or in the cafe looking for me."

Joanne wanted to scoff at that; to look into those rich brown eyes, that unapologetic face, and negate it. She wanted to tell that brilliantly beautiful, captivating naked woman that she had fucked her and gotten it out of her system. It was done.

But Joanne simply turned and walked out, hating the truth of it, hating the fact that for all Maureen's narcissism, she had seen into Joanne all too easily.

--  
_End chapter_


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes: Thanks so much for the feedback so far. It's wonderful to read.

--

**Chapter 8.**

_"Don't tell me I wouldn't see you in a week at that bar, or in the cafe looking for me."_

Joanne was confident when she was in control. That didn't mean that she didn't like a little chaos, now and then, but she figured everyone needed a little bit of 'other' to give their life some spice.

Which wasn't to say that her life was boring. That wasn't it. The matter was, simply, that for someone who always got what they wanted, and never knew how to back down, getting what she wanted had become simply a matter of time.

She had gotten what she thought she wanted. She had spent the night exploring Maureen, worshipping perfectly shaped breasts, thrusting deeply inside liquid heat, settled between pale white legs and tasted her intimately.

One night of damned fantastic sex, with no awkwardness or shyness because for some reason it was a trait Maureen didn't seem to possess. Joanne had known what Maureen was there for the minute Maureen's breath touched her ear. To finish what they had started required one night of sex. That was all.

How that intention had changed, how sex became warped in her head to making love, was the enigma.

Honestly, Joanne felt like a fool, and it was the feeling she hated most, over sadness, even regret. Being made a fool of was, for some reason, a terrifying prospect, and Joanne had adhered to rules and discipline and methodical lists to always be presented at her best.

She found it completely ironic that Maureen could make her feel foolish over and over and over, and yet for some reason, Joanne could bring her hands to her face and, despite three trips to the bathroom and numerous scrubbing, still swear she could smell her on her fingers.

Shifting in her seat brought about a curious pulse that mimicked phantom fingers still buried inside her.

Truthfully, it wasn't as much Maureen's fault as it was hers. Maureen never gave any pretense or false image. Maureen had wanted sex, and she had gotten what she wanted. Whether or not Maureen had a significant other she had no qualms about cheating with didn't matter to her, and because of that, it shouldn't have mattered to Joanne.

But it did. It had. And now Joanne felt like a fool.

It put her in a sour mood. Her thoughts were no longer coherent, but fevered and disconnected, and it made for a shitty lawyer.

Then again, she didn't seem to be the only one out of sorts.

Antonia Suddelson had been pouty, bitchy and annoyed. Hector Suddelson had been handsome, too thin, and petulant. The brother and sister bickered between themselves and to her, and with her pounding headache and wounded feelings, Joanne didn't feel up to mediating between the twins. 

Thankfully, the meeting that was over an hour late getting started ended ten minutes into it, when Hector Suddelson simply got up and walked out, hollering behind him that he 'WASN'T A FUCKING CAUSE!'

Joanne was tired, and as a result, she simply exhaled slowly, arching an eyebrow and leaning back in her chair, tugging at her tie and loosening the knot.

Antonia, frustrated, hazel eyes almost green when contrasted with her well tailored dress, mimicked her brother's tone. "GODDAMMIT, HECTOR! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE DO SOMETHING THAT MEANS SOMETHING!"

The door slammed, and Antonia slumped in her seat, bangs falling into her face.

Joanne mouth twitched. Rubbing at her eyes, she crossed her arms and studied her client. "I know you want this to happen, but if he's not ready for it-"

Antonia's shoulders straightened, and swiping her bangs from her forehead, her hazel eyes suddenly grew cold. "I'm trying to do something meaningful for my brother. I'm trying to make his life worth something."

"And who says it's not?" she asked quietly. Her head had begun to ache, and her finger pressed to her temple was doing nothing to alleviate it. "He seems to have no regrets."

The look she received was incredulous. "He has AIDS, Joanne! Don't tell me that's not a regret!"

"I never said there weren't consequences," she answered. "But your brother obviously has different priorities."

Maybe she was talking out of her ass. Maybe the legal council she was administering wasn't appropriate, given what this client meant to this company. But Joanne tugged on her tie in her office and considered her other clients, bohemian worthless nothings who lived richer and shorter lives than Mr. Finch or even Miss Suddleson. 

"Well, maybe he's not the only one with different priorities." The meeting had apparently put Antonia in a bad mood. "Consider my lawyer, who shows up an hour late." 

Joanne pressed her lips together, the remark stinging. However bitchy it came out, Antonia was right. This case should be her priority.

Exhausting and lingering feelings of foolishness triggered a response to react, and Joanne, desperate perhaps for some measure of control, some point of familiar comfort, made a decision.

Resisting the urge to inhale the fingers currently pressed against her chin, she curled them into her lap and straightened up.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "Let me make it up to you." Lifting her head, Antonia's frustrated expression faded into one of surprise when Joanne leaned forward and picked up the intercom. Waiting a beat, she nodded when Steve's voice came on the phone. "Steven, can you please make a reservation for two for tomorrow at the Chanterelle please? Thank you."

Eyes lingered on her, and Antonia's expression was startled, knees locking together, feet moving fidgety. "That's a cozy place for a meeting."

She smiled back ruefully, "Then let's forgo formality and call it a date. Between friends," she added, when Antonia's mouth fell open, and then snapped shut.

There was an odd blush around the usually composed woman that Joanne could have found charming. She told herself she did.

--

"So… let me get this straight." Rolling her eyes, Joanne sighed into her cocktail, ignoring the utter sparkle in Cindy's expression as her friend, blazer off and hair appropriately mussed for their happy hour meeting, practically bounced in her seat. "You actually slept with this woman, and she had a boyfriend the whole time?" Joanne's returning glare was hardly pleasant. "Someone actually screwed over our Joanne?"

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much," she answered dryly.

"What, the actress?" Megan twittered breathily, sinking into her seat, a newly filled margarita in her hand. "Was she at least good?" 

Cindy was still chortling. "Yes, baby, was the straight girl to your liking?"

Joanne wasn't in the mood. "You know what? I'm not in the mood for this."

Megan's small, surprisingly strong hand clamped onto her shoulder, stalling her assent. "Stop, stop-" Apologetically, she smiled. "Cindy's going to stop being a bitter gloating bitch and we're going to talk about this and be supportive and then you can tell us whether or not she was any good."

"Well of course she was good." Cindy, arms crossed, looked very much like the Cheshire cat. "Do you think our Jojo would be this torn up if she wasn't?"

Cindy was callous and to the point, she had to be, to be a lawyer. She was also bitterly tactless among her friends ("Bullshit is for the office," she'd used to say.). She had the uncanny ability to cut through the fronts and lies and get to the truth. It was the reason they became friends.

Megan was the reason they stayed that way after the break up. The pretty yoga-obsessed litigator glanced between them both, margarita poised underneath her mouth. "Cindy, stop projecting. You're involved with a very nice girl from Queens." 

Joanne groaned, head falling down to her forehead. "I have no idea why I even thought it was a smart idea to tell you." 

"You didn't," Cindy remarked flippantly, "We dragged it out of you. Thank God I'm a lawyer."

"Joanne, do you like her?" Megan asked, ignoring Cindy. "Because if you do, this whole boyfriend thing doesn't matter-"

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" Lifting her head, Joanne offered her a sharp glare. "Do you think I want to start a relationship with a girl who doesn't think much of cheating? With a crazy straight white girl who calls her boyfriend 'Marky'? I mean, God – what would she call me? Jo-ey?"

"Like you're one to talk. You used to call me 'Honeybear'. You remember that?"

Megan seemed amused. "What if she called you something crazy like… 'Muffy' or… 'Pookie'."

The very word caused a repulsive shiver up her spine. "Pookie!" 

"Pookie," she repeated, and collapsed into giggles. 

"It doesn't matter," Joanne continued, eyes on Cindy, as Megan continued laughing to herself. "It's not like this girl made any mention of leaving her boyfriend."

"So why do you care?" When Joanne arched a befuddled eyebrow, Cindy shrugged. "If she's that good then just have the sex. If she doesn't care about her precious 'Marky' then why should you?" 

"Because she likes her, Cindy," Megan said simply, before pinning her with her dark blue eyes. "She wants more than good sex. Right?"

Thumbs teasing the stem of her glass, Joanne kept her gaze on the liquid inside of it.

"No," she said, in a tight voice, bringing it to her lips and gulping down the bitter liquid. "No, I don't. I want nothing else to do with her. I made a date with the hot client, I'm going to date her-" 

"-And get bored and dump her," Cindy finished glibly. Joanne glared silently, but her friend seemed oddly sincere. "Honey, say what you want. Your eyes aren't lying. This girl's got you bad. She's going to break your heart, and you're going to let it happen." Raising her glass, Cindy toasted her calmly. "For your sake, Jojo, I hope it does."

"What?" 

"Cindy-"

"No, hear me out," she continued. "Maybe this one will stick – maybe you'll find what you're looking for that you didn't find in me or Kiki or Kristen or this new client you're going to do the same thing to. Or maybe you'll realize that emotion isn't just something you can turn on and off like a switch. That relationships don't come easy and you have to work at them and can't just dump them like a case you've won. Maybe this one will make you want to try." That said, Cindy drank down her glass and put it on the table. "Okay, maybe you're right. I am a bitter drunk."

--  
_  
("Face it," Maureen said to her once, months later during an argument about the whole 'how it happened' story, "If I hadn't ignored your stupid little plea, we wouldn't be together right now."_

"You only wanted me because you couldn't have me," Joanne muttered back.

"Please. I could have had you any way I wanted you," Maureen said, because Maureen was conceited as all hell. "But Pookie, I just wanted you.")

--

Joanne was so exhausted from the day and the night before it, she had stuffed her tie in her pocket and was in the process of unbuttoning her shirt, when she stepped into her apartment.

Some part of her wondered if Maureen was brassy enough to stay behind when she had ordered her out. If Joanne would open the door and find the beautiful Bohemian splayed out on her sofa, watching television while shoveling Joanne's Orville's popcorn into her mouth, complaining to her around mouthfuls of crunches that Joanne had nothing to eat. Joanne envisioned a triumphant return of her spine, in which Joanne would order her out and stand firm, as Maureen glared at her with that tight jaw, that stony expression that came from years of defying authority.

But it was dark and the moonlight was drifting into her expensive apartment. The television was off. Placing her keys in the keyhole and shrugging off the heavy (but always fashionable, if not severe) trench coat, Joanne didn't bother with the lights, instead moving past the kitchen toward the answering machine.

1 message.

She eyed the machine with a sort of dreaded anticipation, until she sucked in her breath, called herself a moron and pressed the message button.

Not moving far, she slid her hands into her pockets and waited as the robotic voice greeted her.

_"Hello. You have 1 new message. New Message-" _

Biting her lip, she kept her stance determinedly blasé, as if she could fool her mind with her posture.

_"Kitten, it's your father."_ Her heart thudded and dropped into her stomach, and Joanne's eyes slid slowly shut, ignoring the idiotic disappointment. _"I just wanted to remind you, darling, that your mother's dinner is this weekend. We expect you to come, and in your nice heels. Also, I was thinking of stopping by your office today and taking you to lunch-"_

There was sudden static, and Joanne opened her eyes, when the recording picked up another voice. _"Hello?" _

"Oh My God," she breathed, staring down.

_"Hello?"_ her father said. _"Who is this?"_

_"Um hi," _came the other voice in the message. _"This is Maureen. Sorry, Joanne's not here right now – I was in the shower-" _

"Oh my God."

_"Oh, I see. I'm Joanne's father, Howard-" _

_"Hi, Howard! She was really late to work today, or I'd say you could call her there. But I should tell you, she gets really crabby when you just… you know… show up without saying anything." _

"Oh my God," she repeated again.

_"That's my girl, allright,"_ replied her father. _"Maureen, are you-" _

_"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. End of message. You have no more messages." _

"Oh. My. GOD." Blood pounding in her ears, Joanne stayed completely still, trying to wrap her mind on what exactly that message meant.

The light flipped on, and she screeched, jumping in place and swiveling around to catch a sleepy brunette with mussed curls, leaning in her bedroom doorway.

"I had lunch with your dad today," Maureen answered lazily, rubbing with at her eyes with her palm. "He's a nice guy."

Joanne was so flummoxed, she could only stare. "Maureen… What. I. What are - WHAT?"

Maureen considered that statement, and then shrugged, stepping into the room, hands pressed into her back pockets. "I called Mark. Told him that my friend Joanne needed me and I was going to crash with her a couple days and possibly the weekend. Oh, and your dad invited me up with you for your mom's thing."

Once again, Joanne was caught in an insurmountable tide, drowning and scrambling for purchase.

"Why would he do that?" she managed. 

"Because he likes me," Maureen said simply, coming closer. Her eyes were dark emerald and catlike, zeroing in on her like prey. Frozen, Joanne didn't move, not as Maureen kept coming closer, and closer still, until her breath was on her lips. "Just like you."

The shudder that came over her the minute Maureen's lips pressed against her was impossible to hide. Eyes drifted shut as the chaste kiss grew exquisite, a soft firm tongue swiping seductively against her lower lip.

As Maureen pulled back, Joanne exhaled, eyes opening, suddenly fragile, taking in the warm green eyes, and the brief glimpse of insecurity that flashed in them when she didn't respond.

Defeated, Joanne took a step forward, into her arms, and met soft lips with her own.

-- _end chapter_


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes: Thanks so much for the feedback so far. It's wonderful to read.

--

**Chapter 9.**

_Say there's no future for us as a pair  
I know, I may know, I don't care _- Wicked

"I'm not going to leave him."

Whispered words said in the still of the night, caused Joanne's fingers to still in their journey across a perfect breast. Maureen's expression was serious, mouth closed, hooded eyes dark but sincere.

Shivering slightly from the cooled sweat on her body, Joanne felt her heart beat slow, taking her time with her response.

"Who said I was asking you to?" The statement was deliberately casual, tone low and quiet, and Maureen's mouth twitched, wild curls flattened by Joanne's pillow, letting out a long sigh.

Curling her fingers, Joanne skimmed the side of one bauble.

"He needs me," Maureen said in an odd tone, speaking to the air, almost as if she were speaking not just to Joanne, but to herself. "He's having a really hard time right now and if I left him, it would really hurt him."

Joanne wondered silently how much better it was for Maureen's 'Marky' that she cheat on him with her so blatantly.

Maureen's fingers crept over her own, laced the digits together, and when she felt a distinct tug, Joanne realized she was in danger of drifting away.

Soft skin caressed her own, and Joanne took a moment to eye the tangle of light brown flesh against pale.

"You know I'm not going to be the other woman," she told her frankly, because Maureen was being honest, and Joanne felt obligated to do the same. "I'm not going to be someone you can run to whenever you're looking for good sex and a place to sleep."

She meant it. Despite the control Maureen seemed to have over her body, Joanne was reasonably sure that her heart was less than willing to give up its freedom. Maureen was not her ideal. There was great sex and an amazing connection, but nothing in common.

Joanne had a career. She had a life that at the moment hinged on her remaining free and available. There was a gorgeous hazel-eyed woman waiting in the wings, ready to take her place beside her as the perfect accompaniment.

Maureen was a tornado, a thrilling force of nature, beautiful and intoxicating, but never permanent.

"I know," her lover answered, a long moment later, palm brushing against her cheek. "That's not what this is."

Joanne didn't ask what it was. Shifting forward, Maureen's face hovered near her own, breath hot against her lips. When Maureen's lips delicately pressed against hers, soft and seductive, she opened her mouth and willingly allowed Maureen in.

There wasn't a future here. Not for either of them. Joanne understood that.

Arms encircling around her beloved, Joanne lowered the other woman to the bed, reveling in the feel of naked skin against hers, soft curves blanketed by her own, the raspy whisper of a woman who, only for a few days, would be hers.

It was all she had, Joanne told herself it was all she wanted. It would be enough.

Breaking away from full lips, she nibbled on the strong jaw, and buried her face into a musky scented neck. Maureen groaned, and the sound lit her up inside. Smooth legs wrapped around her waist, and Joanne shut her eyes and for once, reveled in the moment.

--

_("Did you know I hadn't ever really done it with another woman?" Maureen asked her once, after a particularly heated round of make up sex. "It's true. I mean, really been with one. They were awesome to mess around with but I never really thought any of them could ever fuck me, you know? Like a guy could."_

"So that's what did it?" Joanne asked dryly, hand on her elbow, peering down at her lover. "I fucked you and you became my slave?"

Maureen's trademark mischievous grin brightened on her face. "You fucked me good and hard, Pookie." Joanne's eyes rolled upwards and she made to pull away, until a strong grip pulled her back down, tumbling on top of Maureen. "You more than fucked me," came the breathy whisper. "You touched me. You tasted me. You heard me. And you let me touch you. Fucking you was the most amazing thing."

And then Maureen's lips pressed hard against hers, as determined fingers moved fast down her body, determined to relive it.)

--

Maureen sang in the shower. Obnoxiously loud.

Pausing at her place on her vanity, Joanne's mouth curled up in involuntary amusement. Maureen's voice was powerful, strong, and it sailed through the air, above the sound of water hitting the tiles, floating into her bedroom like an invasion. It was fitting, Joanne figured, that Maureen would assault her senses when she wasn't even in the room.

The voice was wild and unhinged, and untamed, but it was genuinely _good_. 

Joanne's bedroom, once immaculate, was strewn with clothes that wasn't hers – black pants and white leather jackets, black bra and thongs. Her bed, usually made as soon as she rolled out of bed, was rumpled, sheets hanging off the bed, exposing her white sheets. 

She wrinkled her nose at the abuse they had taken. She'd have to change those.

"You don't have to go to work." The tone was slurry and thick, and really damned sexy. Her temporary lover leaned in the doorway, bare foot and naked save for Joanne's silk kimono, given to her by her parents, plastered to her skin. Brown curls were wet, dripping on the plush carpet.

She let out a ragged, labored sigh, unable to help the small smile that twitched against her lips.

"Unfortunately," she said, reaching for the tie she had chosen earlier. "My job isn't the kind you can just call in sick to. Though you can get sick FROM it." The pout that got was a little too adorable for her own good. "I have a meeting," she said, "With a couple pro bono clients in Alphabet City. They mean something to me."

The frown deepened, and Maureen came forward, grabbing hold of the ends of the tie, lifting an eyebrow at Joanne's surprised expression. "I used to do this for my father," Maureen told her simply, looping knots over holes easily. "My mother told me I'd have to learn eventually." Tugging the tie gently, she pushed up, evening out the ends. Leaning back, she examined her work with an affectionate smile. "I've always liked them."

That was surprising to hear. Joanne crossed her arms, regarding her with a hint of a smile. "They don't really seem to be your style." 

"I tied them for my dad, every morning," Maureen answered, stepping back to sink down on her unmade bed. "Kinda one of those things, you know? As I got older it was kind of the only way I could really connect with him." She shrugged. "We grew apart."

Joanne could understand that. What could a suburban father have in common with a burgeoning performance artist? "You must have given them a fair amount of headaches." 

"Don't tell me you're commiserating."

"I'm sure you were worth the effort." Maureen glanced up and their gaze held, until the intimacy of the moment seemed to bother Joanne, and she turned, readjusting her tie and smoothing down her skirt. 

"Anyway," Maureen continued, in a lighter, chirpier voice. "Mark doesn't like to wear them really. The last time I did it for him was a few months ago," she added, as if by including her boyfriend's name she could put a chill on the entire warm exchange.

Joanne's smile stiffened. It worked. "Big party?" she asked tightly, reaching for her blazer and heading for the door.

"No," Maureen answered, rising up and following her as she moved through her living room and into her kitchen. "A funeral."

Joanne paused, glancing at Maureen, but the woman's hair had fallen into her face, Maureen's gaze on the ground, watching as she flexed her toes, teasing them against the kitchen tile.

"I'm sorry."

A long beat later, Maureen flipped her hair back over her head and raised her eyes heavenward, clucking. "Doesn't matter now," she answered tonelessly, in a way that made Joanne aware that clearly, it did matter. "Fuckin' suicide. Could you get any more cowardly?" Arms falling to her side, Maureen left the kitchen. 

Pouring her coffee, Joanne considered the facts presented to her, from the odd, closed in posture from a woman who had been so open before, to the aggressive veiled anger in that last sentence. 

Staring down at her cup, she pressed teeth down on her lower lip, and exited the kitchen, walking to the figure on the couch, already flipping channels on her television station, looking but not really seeing any of what was on.

Stepping in front of her, Joanne settled onto the coffee table, gently taking the remote from her lover and switching it off.

In the quiet, she studied the beautiful face, the sharp angles.

"I have to go to work," she said softly, with more regret than she wanted to admit. "Will you be okay here?"

Maureen stared at her like she was seeing a stranger. "I'm fine," came the dry response. "You don't have to worry about me."

Joanne pressed her lips together, waited another moment, and nodded. "Good. There's some take out menus in that drawer by the phone, if you're hungry. I've called the desk downstairs to let them know you'll be coming in and out for the next few days." Half rising, she glanced down uncertainly, unsure how to even broach the subject without seeming insulting. "In case you had a job you had to get to."

"I work when I feel like it," Maureen answered, still in a pissy mood. Joanne stared a few seconds longer, and finally just smiled and nodded, moving away from the couch. 

"I'll see you when I get home."

She was in the middle of shrugging on her jacket when Maureen appeared again, pulling the jacket over her shoulders, and bringing the coat together. After a beat, Maureen simply leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her mouth.

"See you," she repeated, still dripping water on her floor, looking like a sodden goddess as she turned and plopped back down on her couch.

Joanne would later tell herself she was trying not to spill her coffee, and that was the reason she didn't move for another minutes. It wasn't at all because she was dazed.

--

"God, stop smiling like that," Steve told her, as soon as she moved past his desk, handing her the coffee he usually had prepared. "You're scaring me."

Joanne arched an eyebrow, and didn't respond. "How's my day looking?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I know about those two meetings in the village, but is my afternoon free?"

"Why, exactly?" he asked, rising and circling his desk, following her into her office.

"I'd like to try and get out of here early if I can," Joanne answered simply, eyes on her folders, marked with each of her client's names. "Don't ask me why."

Pushing his fists into his pockets, Steve rocked back onto his heels and did an annoying little whistle. "Looking to get lucky tonight?"

Sucking in her breath, Joanne glanced up sharply. "Pardon?"

"Come on, I set your reservations. I'm allowed a little voyeurism. Sometimes I wish I was a lesbian. You get some hot chicks." 

Blinking, Joanne could only stare at him stupidly. "Reservation?"

Steve glanced at her oddly. "The one I made for you tonight? For you and Ms. Suddleson? 7PM?" 

_Oh… shit._ Wincing, Joanne closed her eyes and exhaled loudly. Setting down her pen, she rubbed at her temples. "Crap."

"Did you actually forget?"

"Do me a favor," she said, trying to rise above her swimming thoughts. "Call Antonia and cancel – tell her a family matter came up and try and reschedule for next week."

"What? Why?"

"Steven." The warning tone was enough to reestablish propriety, and flopping his arms down in defeat, Steven stepped out of her office. Pressing her lips together, Joanne rubbed at her neck.

Her office phone caught her attention; the lines blinking as presumably, Steven earned his paycheck.

Lifting up the phone, she heard the dial tone.

Halfway through pressing her home number, Joanne caught herself, shaking her head at her own weakness and hanging up.

Gathering her papers into her briefcase, she shrugged into her coat, ready to head out of the office, and at least attempt to act like a lawyer and not a desperate love starved idiot. 

-- _end chapter_


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes: Thanks so much for the feedback so far. It's wonderful to read.

--

**Chapter 10.**

"She's a stalker."

Bringing her lips together in exasperation, Joanne stared into her water, and wished desperately it was a cocktail.

"She's not a stalker."

Cindy collapsed backwards into her chair, one manicured palm moving emphatically in the air. "She doesn't leave when you ask you to. She shows up EVERYWHERE. And now she's staying with you? She's a pushy sort of stalker."

Joanne's shut her mouth and crossed her mouth. "Sometimes I really hate that you're a lawyer."

"And you're falling for her! You're falling for your stalker!"

"I'm not falling for my stalker!" she snapped, and then winced, when the cafe around them quieted, and heads turned in her direction. Flushing, Joanne leaned forward, shrugging off her blazer. "She's not a stalker. She's..."

"What?"

"Confused." 

"Mmhmm." Cindy shook her head, reaching up to push bangs out of her face as her cup of coffee was lifted to her mouth. "She's not the only one."

Joanne wondered if she was going to hurt herself, rolling her eyes as much as she was. Ready to respond, she was halfway to formulating a sentence when a brunette weaved around tables, the pretty face of Megan offering a grin as she threw her bag on one of the empty seats and settled into the next. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said, grabbing her menu and taking the condensing glass of water that was waiting for her. "I had a meeting that ran late. Divorcing couple. They share a Dalmatian. It got ugly. Wha'd I miss?"

"Joanne's falling for her stalker," Cindy said flatly.

In mid sip, Megan nearly choked on her water, spitting it back into the cup, and making a face at the result. "You have a stalker?"

"She's NOT a stalker!" Joanne said, irritation bringing her voice back up. When an approaching waiter gave her an arched brow, she glanced away with a huff. "Look, Maureen's staying with me for a couple days-"

"She's what!"

"Oh yeah," Cindy said, swirling the ice cubes around her glass. "And that's not all. She also somehow managed to finagle going to her parent's house with her this weekend."

"Are you serious!" Menu dropping onto the table, Megan cast wide eyes at a suddenly cringing Joanne. "Jojo."

"It sounds worse than it is."

"It is what it is, baby," Cindy said bluntly. Turning to Megan, she continued, "You know when we were going out, she wouldn't let me meet her parents until we were living together?"

Joanne's eyes rolled heavenward once again. 

Megan sighed. "Joanne, not to side with Mrs. Bitterson over here, but honestly, what do you know about this woman? Aside from the great sex? I mean, seriously?"

"I didn't come here for an inquisition," she answered, heated words ringing with disdain.

"No, you came to have lunch with your friends," Cindy answered simply. "Because some part of you wants to be talked out of this. Otherwise you wouldn't keep bringing it up."

"I didn't bring it up," Joanne snapped. "You did, Cindy, and you wouldn't leave me alone."

"You could have lied."

A fork clanged against a water glass. "Ladies," Megan said sweetly. "Shut up. This is hardly beneficial for any of us. Now." Straightening up, Megan laid her napkin across her lap, crossing her arms on the table. "Obviously there are unresolved issues coming to light, Cindy, that have nothing to do with Joanne and her new squeeze, and it's making you a bit of a bitch." Cindy narrowed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. "Joanne, you obviously are ignoring what is apparent to both of us."

"And that is?" Joanne asked.

"That you are becoming entangled in what might become a problem relationship. Something about this Maureen girl has you hooked-" Joanne exhaled loudly. "-and let's face it, this isn't your usual... what does she DO, exactly?"

Joanne frowned. "Do?"

"A job? Does she even have one?" Cindy asked sharply, fingernail tracing the rim of her water glass. "Aside from her promising 'acting' career, that is."

This was frustrating. Joanne sighed, trying to stall by reaching for a slice of bread. "I don't really know."

"Oh my Lord."

"Look, why does this even matter?" Joanne snapped, head jerking up. "She's staying for two more days, okay? Two. Then she's going back to her boyfriend Mark and I'm going to move on. The way I see it, I have an extremely hot girl in my bed, and frankly, that's all I care about. This will be done by next week."

"That's what you said the last time," Megan pointed out helpfully, waving her menu, looking around for the disappearing waiter. "Seriously, where is he!"

Joanne gave a frustrated hiss. "Look - I know this can't last. I know it. And I know on paper it looks and sounds crazy, and maybe she's certifiably insane, but what she's looking for and what I'm looking for are the same: nothing. We're in it for the sex and for the connection that, amazingly enough, seems to be there."

"And your parents?" Cindy's eyes were hooded. "Where do they fit in?" 

"They don't," she answered, tone even. "She's not coming. It was a misunderstanding that happened when I wasn't there, and I really don't think-"

"I think we've established you not thinking is the problem, honey."

"Cindy- god-damm-" Cutting herself off, Joanne surprised herself when she realized just how furious she was.

"That's an awful lot of emotion for a fling, honey."

Shuddering, she pushed out her chair and gathered her purse. "I'll see you later, when I don't have to be the focus of the conversation." With that, she shook her head in resignation and walked out of the caf‚.

--

_("I always knew I didn't like Cindy for a reason," Maureen had told her once, after they had become 'official'._

"She doesn't like you," Joanne told her simply, "Because she doesn't think you're good for me, and she's honest to a fault."

That would be enough to put Maureen out for an hour, and lead to a full on argument about the merit of Cindy in her life because quite obviously - at least to Maureen- she was fantastic for her.  
"She's just jealous," Maureen argued, "Because I get you going in a way she never could." 

Joanne bit back her frown and sighed. Maureen was a full on narcissist at times, but that part, at least, was true.)

-- 

Really, what the hell was she doing?

Joanne could picture herself on the witness stand, being drilled by Cindy, and objectively, she could see that validity in the arguments that Cindy was presenting.

The reason Joanne was getting so angry was that she had no answers, there were no clear cut reasons why she had allowed this to happen. All there was, was a captivating woman with deep green eyes and a too wide mouth, who made love like she was swallowing life whole.

Really, how could she explain to her friends that being with Maureen made her feel... alive, the likes of with she had only felt when she had won her first probono case for an East Village squatter?

"Joanne Jefferson?"

Torn from her thoughts, Joanne nearly plowed into the handsome man who was now directly in front of her. Stumbling a bit, Joanne's eyes widened when she realized she had nearly run right into Hector Suddleson. 

"Hector-Mr. Suddleson!" Extracting herself from his hold with an apologetic grin, Joanne stared at the rosy cheeked twin of Antonia. He was dressed casually but expensively, in a designer sweater and corduroy pants. He wore a charming smile to match, and it occurred to Joanne, that with that smile, he was prettier than some of the girls she had dated.

"You can call me Hector," he told her simply, shoving hands into his pockets now that she had righted herself. "I wasn't sure if you saw me and were trying to avoid me or if you were off in your own world."

"No, no, I'm sorry... I don't know what's been happening to me lately. It's like my brain has just decided to lapse at the most inappropriate times." When his smile quirked, hers froze, and she sighed at her own stupidity. "And I probably shouldn't be telling you, my client, that."

A beat of silence followed, as they locked eyes once again, and suddenly they both burst into laughter. "Hey, at least you're being honest about it," he answered, recovering with a rasping sort of cough, pounding at his chest a bit.

"It's the least I can give you," she answered, relaxing into a genuine grin. "Are you on your way somewhere?"

"I was in the neighborhood visiting a friend," he answered, "And was in search of a decent cup of coffee." Pausing, he considered something, and then cocked his head to the side. "Care to join me, Ms. Jefferson?"

"Fair's fair," she told him with a nod. "You can call me Joanne. Come on, there's a Starbucks on the corner."

--

"So what are you doing so far away from Corporate America?" he asked, as soon as they were seated, a steaming frappuchino in his pale hand. When she arched an eyebrow, he shrugged. "This is the East Village, hardly the haunt for high profile attorneys."

She cleared her throat, nodding with a good natured swallow. "I could ask the same of you." 

"I told you, I was visiting a friend," he said smoothly. "And you?"

"Clients," she said, swallowing down the bitter liquid. "I've been neglecting a couple pro bono cases, and I was hoping to use today to catch up."

"Instead you run into me," he said, grimacing.

"It's not an inconvenience," she assured him. "I've actually been hoping to get in touch with you alone."

"Alone?" he asked, smile quirking at the unintentional insinuation. When she blushed, he grinned. "Don't worry, I'm well aware we're not each other's types." She rolled her eyes and he shrugged. "Though I am surprised you'd want to see me without my sister."

Ah. Joanne put her coffee down and pressed her lips together, waiting for what was coming.

"She told me you were supposed to have dinner tonight."

This was interesting. If Hector was disturbed by the possibility of Joanne dating Antonia, it could become a professional conflict of interest.

Staring at her coffee, she kept her face purposely closed. "Is that a problem?" 

Hector arched an eyebrow, studying her intently. "Only if you have a problem having a fag for a brother in law."

She blinked, and shook her head in bewildered confusion. "You're getting ahead of us, aren't you? Antonia and I are just friends." 

"She likes you," he confirmed, "and I like you. Not in the same way of course, but it's given me a particular dilemma." 

"Pardon?"

"Antonia likes her causes. She gets an idea in her head and she just runs with it. She's used to getting what she wants. When she can't control something she gets a little… bossy. Doesn't like to listen."

"Even when her brother is involved in a lawsuit he doesn't want," she finished for him.

He pressed his lips together, nodding grimly. "Antonia's never dated a woman," he told her frankly. "But for reason, that's not stopping her. Maybe she sees something in you she hasn't seen before. But she wants what she wants until she doesn't want it anymore."

"That sounds familiar," she admitted, and considered the dark-haired beauty waiting for her at home, and the ever lasting hope that somehow Joanne's lust for her would be satiated by just one more fevered kiss, as it had always been before.

"Oh?"

She only smiled back. "You don't have to worry about me," she assured him. "I can take care of myself."

He looked like he envied her. "I wish I could say the same."

And then, she finally saw the sickness: in the faded brilliance of the eyes, in the too skinny frame, and the way he coughed once too often, huddling into the cardigan.

"My friend," he said suddenly, shivering slightly, "He was the hottest mother fucker at the clubs when we went out. Beautiful man, big dick." She made a face and he grinned, a smile that faded away. "He's lying in that hospital room looking like a fucking skeleton. Can't even get up to shit. Treated like a god-damn leper." He laughed bitterly. "And I thought being gay was fucking hard enough."

Quiet, she kept still, watching the struggle on his face, the dawning realization that the disease would eat away at him, strip him of his beauty and his dignity. Joanne found herself suddenly blinking tears away. 

Sucking in her breath, she lifted her coffee cup, breaking the silence with a forced smile. "To no regrets."

He blinked, surprised at the sudden gesture, but maybe he understood, because he smiled back weakly, and clinked his cardboard cup against hers.

"No regrets."

And Joanne really liked Hector.

--

Joanne had given up expectation when it came to Maureen.

There was a shivering sort of excitement as she stepped closer to her apartment, and a part of her was almost embarrassingly excited at the idea of coming home to someone. It was that anticipation that had carried her through the day, and although she had denied herself the instinct to call home, she felt like an absurd school girl.

Pushing her key into the lock, she took a moment to breathe, wondering why on top of it all, she was frightened, and pushed into the apartment.

There were no candles or flickering fire light. The lights were on, and her Nine Simone CD was playing at a louder than reasonable volume. The smell of Chinese was almost pungent, and Joanne, shrugging off her coat, was greeted with the voice of her Maureen, chatting away on the phone.

Flirting. On the phone.

Joanne pressed her lips together, wondering if once again, her lover had decided to talk to her very own Marky. Pure resolved told Joanne to put her jealous tendencies away, and she stepped into the living room to catch the eye of her fickle houseguest.

Maureen smiled brightly at her presence, as Joanne stepped into the living room and turned down the stereo, hearing as Maureen laughed once again, coming forward and offering her a kiss.

"She just walked in," she said into the phone, and when an irritated Joanne arched an questioning eyebrow, Maureen grinned. "I promise. Nice meeting you." Hanging up the phone with a push of the dial button, Maureen studied her. "That was your friend Toni."

_Toni?_

"She wanted to make sure you were okay," Maureen said simply, shamelessly. "Since you cancelled tonight due to a family emergency."

Shit.

"Don't worry," Maureen said, obviously seeing the widened eyes of panic on Joanne's face. "I told her I was your cousin in town, feeling under the weather and you needed to take care of me. I was very convincing." 

Speechless, Joanne's eyes moved from the phone to the cool gaze being given to her by Maureen.

"She's a client," Joanne said eventually, unsure why the silence unnerved her. Maureen's mouth thinned out into a bit of a smirk.

"Whatever," she answered, an odd twinge coming at the end of that word, as Maureen leaned in once more. Biting back a groan, Joanne sighed raggedly when she leaned in, mouth brushing softly against her cheek, before hot breath sent shivers to her ear. "She said you better take good care of me," Maureen said lowly, distinctly.

"Did she?" Joanne asked, more raggedly than she had originally intended, as her hands, seemingly of their own volition, smoothed over Maureen's waist, and moved lower still to that glorious ass. 

"Mmhmmm…" Another feather light touch against her neck, and the tantalizing tease of a tongue against her earlobe. "But I think I want to take care of you first."

Fingers jerked at her tie, moving deftly, and hot lips moved against hers hungrily, tongue reaching into tangle with hers, a deep, possessive kiss.

It was what she craved, and Joanne lost control, crushing the body against hers, groaning against the panting lips.

Sucking in her breath, Maureen's eyes were sparkling, magnetic, as fingers buried into Joanne's curls, holding onto to her harshly. "I missed you," she said, in the stillness of the moment, before that mouth was once against moving against hers, and fingers fumbled with buttons, jerking so violently one of them popped.

The words sunk down deep inside of her, and Joanne surrendered to their truth. 

"I missed you, too."

--

-- _end chapter_


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 11.**

Joanne had a fetish or two, but in her mind, those had never included a food fetish. Not the flavored oils, not the chocolate on the belly, she had had a bad experience with a rather aggressive lover who hadn't cooled their little home made strawberry puree and had come out of it with third degree burns.

Consequently, when her stomach growled, and Maureen rose from her arms, breathily telling her she would feed her in a positively wicked tone, Joanne's stomach turned in an altogether different response.

But she was boneless, limbs somehow heavy and light at the same time. Her heart was preoccupied with attempting to pulse back to a regular, sane beat, and her eyes were helplessly drawn to the naked vision currently making her way across the carpet into Joanne's kitchen.

Joanne closed her eyes and sucked in a Maureen soaked breath, running her tongue over her teeth. Maureen hadn't been gentle with her. Her lips were swollen, and she was sure Maureen had drawn blood, biting on her lower lip the way she did. Her nipples were still sensitive from her lover's relentless savage attention, and between her legs, she throbbed in that aching satisfied way.

The fervor with which she had been attacked had sent her reeling, and now, head barely managing to stay above water, Joanne wondered if she was experiencing the best sex she had ever had. Was the intense desperation that fueled their most recent coupling a simple reaction to the knowledge that this was all temporary?

Sounds from her kitchen distracted her from her thoughts, and thankful for that, Joanne reached for the throw hanging off her sofa, and watched as Maureen appeared, carrying a pungent smelling brown paper bag. Answering Joanne's bemused expression with a proud smirk of her own.

"I ordered Chinese."

"Good choice," Joanne answered, shifting so she could sit up, as Maureen settled down on her knees, setting the bag across her back.

"I wasn't sure if you were a spicy girl or not," Maureen said, eyes sparkling with a mischievous fire, reaching in and pulling out a fast food carton. "I took a chance."

Joanne was a spicy food nut, and she grinned, almost too widely, as she listened to Maureen's crystal clear laugh. Ready to reach for a pair of chopsticks protruding from the bag, she was slightly startled when Maureen slapped her hand away. Oddly submissive, Joanne quirked an eyebrow and watched and Maureen clutched at her bag dominantly, pulling the cheap Chinese utensils out herself. Never one to be passive, Joanne used it to her advantage, leaning forward as Maureen struggled with separating the two pieces of wood and planting a kiss on the naked shoulder, lingering in the musky scent.

She heard a ragged sigh, and smiled against Maureen's skin. Eyes closing, she reveled in the feel of it, tongue swiping across the salty flesh until she heard a giggle and the shoulder receiving her attention slipped away.

"Food first," Maureen told her, softly sliding velvety lips against her mouth, forehead tilting against her own. Joanne rolled her eyes in mock frustration, and then burst into a short laugh as Maureen began to attempt to work the sticks, digging them into the open carton.

"Need some help?"

"Shut up," Maureen muttered, a sing song note that made Joanne rise her palm to her mouth, hiding her smile. Maureen was doggedly determined, and after a couple attempts, she grinned proudly, holding up one single chow mein noodle between her chopsticks. "Aha!"

Joanne offered a supportive clap. "Very good."

Biting her lower lip in concentration, Maureen waved the noodle shakily at her. "Now open."

"Do you think I'm five?" Joanne asked, falling back on her elbows. "I'm not completely incapacitated, you know."

"Would you turn your brain off and play along? Open!"

Joanne tilted her head back, mockingly defiant. Clearing her throat meaningfully, Maureen shook the chopstick at her, very nearly dislodging her pitiful noodle. It was a disturbingly adorable sight. 

Taking pity on her struggling lover, Joanne opened her mouth. Getting the noodle to a proper release position was a teetering journey, and Joanne erupted in a short burst of laughter when Maureen lost the battle, the noodle slithering off its wooden perch, missing her mouth completely and landing on her shoulder.

"Why don't you let me do it?" she asked, plucking the sticky noodle off her skin, unsure what to do with it.

"Who said you could do that?"

Torn from her dilemma of where to put the noodle, she jerked her head up. "Excuse me?"

Jaw jutting out, Maureen wore a childish pout. "I would have gotten that."

"It's not really a problem."

Apparently it was, because a strong grip closed around her wrist, Maureen trapping her grip with hooded, predatory eyes. Slowly, deliberately, Maureen bent down, and sucked her finger, noodle and all into her mouth. The feel, of the warm liquid heat surrounding her digits, the feel of teeth scraping against her flesh, stole her already weakened breath.

Joanne was fixated, locking onto the heated gaze of Maureen.

With a low moan that surged into Joanne's chest, Maureen slowly released her finger. "That was nice."

Before Joanne quite knew what was happening, her lover reached into the box with her hands and dumped an entire handful of noodles directly on her chest.

--

She was sticky. Her breath was shallow, and Joanne's lower back ached, as she lay back on her carpet, chin up and eyes closed.

And still, she couldn't help her fatigued, delirious laughter, fingers curling into silky brown hair. "You have to stop," she whispered, voice raspy, hands balling into fists, pulling up with as much force as her weakened, satisfied body would allow her, trying to keep Maureen from taking her over the edge, yet again.

The look on Maureen's face was almost smug, but Joanne could forgive it, as she pulled on strong, lean biceps, and felt the delicious weight of the other woman's weight, settling flush against her.

It was a tender, loving look Joanne delivered, as she studied the angles that made up the other woman's face. Unable to keep herself from touching, Joanne slid fingers tips along the strong jawbone, the line of her nose, the fullness of her lips.

"You're amazing," she whispered, and felt Maureen's mouth crease in response. Reaching up, she fell into a lazy, indulgent kiss, tongue sweeping inside to rub gently against Maureen's. Hot breath panted against her mouth as she pushed up, hips pressing against her lovers until she had gently reversed their positions, Maureen curled into her arms, sandwiched between herself and the rug. An odd pop broke into their embrace. 

"Oww," Maureen mumbled against her lips, and when Joanne shifted slightly in response, Maureen arched up and flailed a bit, coming up with a crushed, empty carton.

"Sorry," Joanne said, and Maureen grinned, flinging it away from her, and forcing Joanne to take a look at the state of her usually impeccably clean living room. Her carpet was stained with food, empty cartons mingled with her and Maureen's clothes, and the whole place smelled like sex and Chinese food.

"Don't." Fingers cupped her chin, jerking her face back to face Maureen's. "I can see your head getting ready to explode."

"You can see that, huh?" 

"It's a gift. I'm gifted."

Joanne pressed her mouth together. "Yes, you are."

"Yeah?"

"Very much so."

The smug smile on Maureen's face was almost infectious. "Baby, you haven't seen nothing yet."

It was a fault of Joanne's, her habit of taking statements and letting every annotation sneak into her head, pick at her brain. It was her lawyer's mentality, and it was what made her purse her lips and speak, even as a warm palm smoothed down the muscled arm and come to rest on Maureen's bare hip.

"You're right. I haven't." The look she received was muddled, almost confused, and Joanne managed a soft, careful smile. "You said you're a performance artist, right? But I haven't seen you work really, and I'm just wondering how you…" She trailed off when she could see the beginning of resistance in the other woman, the tensing beneath her fingertips from a body that had been supple and open only minutes before.

"How I…" Maureen continued, eyebrow rising, and Joanne wondered why this even mattered.

But it did. She wanted to know, and perhaps it wasn't phrased right, and perhaps Joanne really was coming off as the snob Maureen would always accuse her of being, but it mattered.

"What do you do, Maureen?" 

She almost regretted the question, when Maureen's eyes grew cold before her own searching gaze. "Whatever I feel like." 

Joanne shook her head, utterly bewildered. "Whatever you feel like."

"Yeah. Like I felt like fucking you a few minutes ago, so I did." Joanne closed her eyes, feeling the ping of annoyance strike her. When Maureen pushed at her, she rolled over, getting a lapful of blanket as Maureen flung the fabric on her. 

"Why does every question have to be some sort of drama with you?" Joanne asked, her voice harder than she intended, an actual snap. "I'm asking you a simple question, Maureen."

"It's not a simple question, and if you weren't such a fucking over-attentive snob you'd know that."

"Excuse me?" 

"I do what I feel like, okay? I do what I feel like because it feels good and I like doing it. I don't need someone like you trying to make me feel that I need to have it any other way." 

Good God, that settled it. She was dealing with a genuine drama queen. "How the hell did you get all that from me asking you if you had a job, Maureen?"

Her fiery temptress whirled on her. "It's not what you say, Joanne. It's that look, in your eyes, like it's not good enough. You have no fucking clue who I am, so how about you save the judging for a girl who didn't just spend the last twenty minutes sticking her tongue into your cunt."

God, she was obscene. Shuddering in revulsion at the dirty language, Joanne closed her eyes and buried her hand in her mop of curls on her head. "My God."

She could have written her off. She should have. She should have stayed put on that floor, while Maureen went about untangling her clothes from Joanne's, flinging everything around in a fucking snit. Good riddance. She didn't need the drama.

But her limbs pushed her off the floor, and unwilling to face her own reasons for doing so, Joanne let her blanket drop and grabbed Maureen's arms. "Stop," she said, and when Maureen struggled, just held on tighter. "STOP, Maureen." 

Luminous dark eyes were liquid pools of intense emotion, and staring into them, Joanne blinked, caught unexpectedly by their depth. Maureen's ambitions and motivations were forever cloaked to her, and yet somehow, she wore her bleeding heart on her chest, just enough to take her breath away.

Farther down, Joanna heard whispered in her head, every second, inch by inch, she's swallowing you whole like a snake.

"I'm sorry," she said, when Maureen finally stopped jerking against her. "You're right. I don't understand. I'm not like you, Maureen. I'm not a theatre person. So tell me about it. You say I don't know you? Let me see you. Let me hear you. Honey, that's all I want from you." Maureen's face was almost impossible to read, so many emotions and yet her eyes were guarded, and Joanne found herself smiling bitterly at the impossible enigma. "Show me," she said, and let go, stepping back and kicking at bare cartons and tangled clothes at her feet, clearing what she thought was a decent performance space, reaching for her shirt and slipping it on.

Maureen looked on suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see you."

In the end, it was that simple; to sit back and wait expectantly, because her Maureen loved attention, and most importantly, Maureen wanted to be seen as anything but insignificant. No matter the stage, the diva needed to be on it, and this time, Joanne was just fine with watching her girl shine.

She knew Maureen wouldn't turn down an opportunity to perform, and when that beautiful smile snuck onto Maureen's face, she returned it with gusto, prepared to be mesmerized.

She wasn't let down.

-- 

"No one really expected me to be with him," Maureen said to her, in the dead of the night, check pillowed against her breast, because Maureen told her she liked to listen to her heart beat. "I guess at first, that was why I did it. I've never wanted to be predictable." Joanne kept quiet, fingers smoothing through the curls, detangling them carefully, wet, sweet smelling locks still nearly dripping with water. "And Mark was sweet. Always with that camera of his – the ultimate fantasy, the director and his muse." 

Fingers traced her bicep, following their curve to her shoulder, then down again, to the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.

"You love him," Joanne said, oddly detached, unable to shake the feeling of intimacy, even with the woman in her arms discussing her other lover.

"I guess…" Maureen's mouth twitched, her throat husky, unraveled. "But it just all got so… real." A ragged sigh, and the figure above her burrowed in deeper, as if some how, the bad spirits of that past could be chased away. Joanne kissed the top of Maureen's wet head. "Benny got married and Collins – I really liked Collins – got that gig at MIT, and then April fucking killed herself, and Roger got his fucking AIDS, and I just … I stopped existing." Joanne blinked, light headed until she realized she was holding her own breathe. "God, Mark says I'm so fucking self involved – because Roger's in fucking withdrawal, and it's just him and me, he says – the two us, we gotta be there for that junkie who spent months of rent money on drugs and beat up Mark because he had the gall to hide it from him. I said cut him loose, and fucking Mark wouldn't do it. Said Roger needed him just like Mark needed me, but it wasn't true. Mark didn't need me. If he did he wouldn't have stopping seeing me." 

A sudden pain in her throat made her aware of the lump that existed within it, and she tried to swallow it down, and found even as she managed it, she couldn't say a word. The woman in her arms was at her most naked, and Joanne could only hold on tight, feeling the tremors, a woman on the verge of falling apart.

"He's going to need me again though," Maureen said, in a thick, resolved voice. "I know people think I'm a horrible girlfriend because I cheat, but I'm just treading water, right? Because Roger's getting better every day, and he's going to stop needing Mark so much, and Mark's gonna stop being so scared he can't see anything without his stupid lenses in front of it. It's going to be like it was. And I'm not going to be a coward like April and cut out on him. I'm not going to be like her."

April, Roger's dead girlfriend, who got Aids from drugs. Maureen's boyfriend Mark, so intent on saving his friend he was ignoring the trauma inflicted on the highly sensitive drama queen.

Joanne understood it, but she faulted him. She blamed him. Maureen's loyalty was skewed, her fidelity was flawed, but her desperation was palpable, real, and the shake in her voice at the mere mention of this girl April made Joanne wonder how close they had been.

Joanne had been in choir, her mother and father insisted on it, and blessed with training and a strong voice, she had had her share of solos. She wasn't sure why Amazing Grace seemed appropriate now, but still, it escaped her lips, a whisper of a song, floating into Maureen's ears.

And miracle of miracles, Maureen listened. Lifting her head, the brunette stared up at her with obscenely young eyes, the glimmer of life in her eyes that made her smile. When Maureen joined her in the last chorus, the harmony came naturally, her deep, trained soulful melody surprisingly fluid with the untamed, almost shrill counterpart. Put together, the harmony was intoxicating.

It was strangely fitting.

As the notes died, leaving behind a soft, intense moment of silence, Maureen reached up and pressed her palm against Joanne's, tangling fingers together, holding on tight.

"Don't go to work tomorrow," Maureen said. It wasn't a request, but even if it was, Joanne didn't know how she would have ever denied her.

-- _end chapter_


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 12.**

It was a sudden chill and a rough shake at her shoulder that startled Joanne from her sleep. Sunlight, brighter than she was ready for, seared into her retinas, and she groaned, flopping her head back onto her pillow and curling one side over her ear, a meager attempt to drive it away.

But her attacker was relentless, and the pillow was pulled out of her sleepy grasp, force shoving her back onto the bed, head ringing as a result. Eyes squinting open, Joanne found her breath pushed out of her when a large mass settled over her hips. Thighs clamping against her waist, Maureen sat astride her, like she was riding a horse.

Still decidedly grumpy from being forced awake, Joanne ignored the pleasant feel of the other woman's warmth. With a defiant glare, Joanne tossed her arm over her eyes, emitting a grumbly 'humph'.

"Come on," Maureen said, latching onto her arm and trying to pull it off of her face. "I thought you were one of those weird morning persons." 

"I'm not," Joanne answered from gritted teeth. "I'm never a morning person. That's why I drink tanks of coffee. I have discipline. There's a difference."

"Baaaabieee…" 

Joanne sighed, eyes still closed. "No."

"But I'm bored. Come on." An open palm settled on her naked breast, massaging lightly, and Joanne bit her lip, determined to lie still. "You can't coop me up in here by myself when you don't even have cable. We have to go out."

"Uhuh," she responded, voice flat, even as her hands betrayed her and smoothed up the bare thighs. Creaking her eyes open, she took in her rumpled dress shirt Maureen had put on, one button lewdly buttoned low in front. Aside from a pair of pretty hot black panties, Maureen wore nothing else. Joanne had to admit, the girl could work it far better than she could. "I called in sick, remember? I'm not supposed to be out. I'm supposed to be warm in my bed recuperating." 

Curling her fingers, she played with fabric edge of Maureen's underwear, unable to stop the silly grin from taking over her expression when the other woman glanced down at the naughty fingertips, eyebrow arching.

"What, am I'm supposed to just stay here with you?"

"I'll make it worth your while."

It was a promise she fully intended to keep, and when Maureen stayed put, shifting on top of her experimentally, she felt her heart jump a little, feeling a little bit like a fool.

"I still want lunch," Maureen told her, thighs tightening at her waist, fingers shifting against Joanne's until they were clutched tightly against hers. "And not at one of those stuffy places like the one you took me to the last time."

"You mean when you showed up at my office and damned near killed my career?"

The smile stiffened, and Joanne shut her mouth, repeating the statement in her head. Maureen loosened her hold on her hands, eyes dropping away from hers, falling forward until she was curled into Joanne's shoulder. Throwing an arm across Joanne's chest, Maureen blew a raspberry deliberately into her shoulder.

"Eww," Joanne commented, wincing at the gooey, spitty mess. Rolling her eyes, Maureen grabbed hold of her expensive sheet and wiped her shoulder.

"All I did was put some spice into your nice, boring, plain job," she told her shamelessly. "You needed a shake up."

"I needed a shake up?" Joanne repeated, eyeing Maureen warily when the mouth came down again. Fortunately, Maureen simply placed a gentle kiss on her collarbone. 

"Mmmhmmm. You work too much. You're one of those people who work all the time. You're…" frowning, Maureen searched for the appropriate word.

"Good at my job?"

"A workaholic."

Joanne sighed, feeling the word work a particular sore spot inside of her. It wasn't like she hadn't been called that before, and she already had a defense worked out. "It's kind of hard not to be when you're a lawyer, honey." Sitting up, shifting slightly so that she could move out from under Maureen, she studied the woman in her arms. "When you perform – the type of performances that you do – you have to practice for them, right? I mean, it's not an improvisation."

"Sometimes it is," Maureen answered, reaching up to push one tangled curl out of her face.

"But the one you were telling me about. With the TV's and the cowbell and the music, it requires some practice, I'm sure."

"Well, yeah, if I want it to be good," Maureen answered, and a glimmer was slowly moving into the brown eyes, like the performance artist could see exactly where she was going.

Grinning, Joanne threaded fingers through curls, working through the tangles. "It's almost the same, being a lawyer."

"No shit," came the dry reply, low and husky.

"If I want things to go my way, I have to be prepared. That means hours searching through musty books, and articles, trying to find anything I can that'll help me be prepared. The courtroom isn't that much different than a stage. I need a great performance or I lose."

It made sense, when she thought about it that way, and Joanne smiled, suddenly satisfied with herself, even if she couldn't understand why it seemed so important to find common ground with such a polar opposite.

Still, it brought a beautiful, knowing grin on Maureen's face, as her lover pushed up, sitting up with her to stare into her face.

"So getting you to call in sick was a big deal, huh?" Joanne sucked in her breath, rolling her eyes and fighting a self conscious smirk. "Ms. Jefferson, what will your parents say? To know you've succumbed so easily to my charms?"

The inference to the coming weekend put a stop to the carefree teasing charm. Joanne's smile stiffened, and her eyes shifted to lock intensely with Maureen's.

Swallowing and licking her lips, she reached for a slender wrist and began delicately, "Maybe its better that you don't come tomorrow."

Soft doe eyes widened in response, as if Maureen truly hadn't seen that coming. Glancing down at the hand currently being massaged by Joanne, she opened her mouth, and closed it again.

"But… but I want to go."

"You want to go to a stuffy dinner party with 100 of my parent's closest friends," Joanne repeated, somewhat skeptical. "Maureen, the most exciting thing there will be my dog, Fritzy."

"I like dogs," Maureen insisted, pulling her hand from Joanne's, somehow offended. "And I liked your father. He was nice. He told me stories about you and he invited me personally. He said I should come."

Patience was getting tough, and Joanne held her breath, fingers on her temple as she wondered when on earth she had become a lion tamer. "I know that," she repeated, as calmly and gently as she could. "But honey, my father assumed you and I were… " Glancing up, she studied Maureen's face. She saw nothing but an intense scrutiny that was dangerously close to turning into a glare. "More than what we are," she finished, suddenly cotton-mouthed. Dammit. "Maureen, if you go, everyone will assume that you and I are together, and they will act accordingly."

"So what's so wrong about pretending?" Maureen asked, and rose to her knees, teetering crablike across her bed until she had gotten to the floor, shrugging off her shirt and pulling on Joanne's silk kimono. "It'll be fun."

Maureen had apparently decided this on her own, and frozen, Joanne sucked her breath in through her teeth, watching as her lover flounced to her bathroom. Normally, she was a fighter. Bringing Maureen would be a mistake, and Joanne was balancing enough on her already teetering house of cards.

Opening her mouth to continue the argument, or at least put her foot down and get some hint of her spine back, she was distracted when a sharp ringing cut through the air.

Ignoring the phone, Joanne closed her eyes and placed her palm against her feverish forehead, trying to picture Maureen, charming though she could be, sitting at a table with her parents, explaining to them intricacies of her performance art, beginning with the cow named Elsie.

The machine clicked on, and Joanne winced at the sound of her voice, just like she always did.

Grabbing a robe and shrugging into it, she moved toward the living room, flopping onto the couch just as the beeeeeeeeeeep cued the caller.

_"Umm… Joanne? It's Antonia. Suddelson."_

Joanne lifted her eyes heavenward and wondered idly if pigs were flying outside.

_"Steven told me you were sick, and I was just wondering if you were all right."_

Maureen emerged, eyeing the phone with a devilish sparkle in her eyes.

"Don't you dare," Joanne told her, eyes narrowed dangerously when Maureen began to step in the direction of the phone.

Oddly enough, Maureen actually obeyed, sticking out her tongue playfully and staying put, arms crossed, looking amused and wanton.

Joanne found herself annoyed for thinking Maureen was still sexy as hell while Antonia was still droning on.

_"-thinking about coming over with some soup-" _

Blinking suddenly, the words sunk into her brain, and suddenly she scrambled off the couch, bumping her knee against the wooden coffee table and yelping loudly. Hopping on one foot, she managed to close her hand over the phone, ignoring a laughing Maureen, wincing in pain.

"Antonia! You don't have to do that," she wheezed.

"Oh, God! You sound horrible!"

Maureen actually snorted at that, Antonia's voice loud enough to carry across the room, and when Joanne glared, she shut her mouth like a disciplined child.

"No, no, I'm fine. I just… oh- I hit my knee-" Limping to the sofa, she fell across it, ignoring Maureen's arched eyebrow to rub her knee vigorously with her free hand.

"I can bring you an ice pack-"

"You really don't have to do that." Eyes on Maureen, Joanne warily held her breath when the other woman settled down next to her, drawing her leg into her lap and worked her fingers into Joanne's sore knee. "It's really my… cousin," she grimaced, "-whose sick. She's not feeling well still, and I thought it'd be a good idea to just take the day and watch over her." 

Maureen grinned wickedly, and Joanne suppressed a ragged sigh when she bent forward, brunette hair obscuring her face like a falling curtain.

"Oh, I see. Well, it's sweet that you're so close."

"Oh, we're definitely…" Joanne's voice wavered, breath caught in her throat when a warm mouth settled over her knee, sending a shiver up her spine. A possessive hand smoothed up her thigh, and Joanne's eyes closed involuntarily. "Close."

"Well, maybe we can try for something this weekend?"

"I'm um… I'm going to be with my parents this weekend," Joanne said, voice increasingly raspy, dazed and dizzy as Maureen pulled strands from her face and glanced up at her, laughing silently at Joanne's glare. Pushing her knee off her lap, Maureen settled herself between her legs, pulling nimbly at the tie of Joanne's robe.

"Oh. And you'll be with your cousin tonight, I guess."

My God. Warm heat seared onto her skin surrounding her bellybutton, hot breath accompanied teeth that nipped gently, and palms pressed on her ribs, holding her captive as her tormentor nudged at the underside of her breast with her nose.

"Most likely," Joanne agreed, desperately trying to keep her voice steady, even as her body arched underneath Maureen. "But maybe this coming week?"

In that moment, a flat, firm tongue swirled around her areola, and Joanne shuddered.

"Let's try to schedule something," she said, a bit unsteadily, eyes narrowed in shivering wonder as Maureen's head bobbed at her chest. "You know, my cousin's calling, I have to go-"

Clicking off the phone, she tossed it off the bed, letting out a frustrated groan, burying fingers into the brunette mane of hair. "You're fucking evil, Maureen."

The expletive was enough to raise Maureen's head, and display a very smug expression. "So about this weekend…"

Groaning, Joanne grabbed hold of Maureen's head, and hauled her up, sinking a warm tongue into Maureen's mouth.

-- _end chapter_


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 13.**

_And then you know there comes a time  
You need her more than anything   
You may believe yours are the wounds  
That only she can heal   
Then everything will turn around  
And she becomes so serious   
What she chose to offer you  
Was all that you could have_  
-- 'She Runs Away', by Duncan Sheik

Joanne had always been the odd duck. It was her father's observation, he told her that no matter what the situation, Joanne was different enough not to fit in. Her mother was more disturbed by this than he was, because she said there was only so much differentness that a person could take, and as a woman who was raised in high class, she knew the pressures of fitting in. But he always told her that Joanne was meant to be exceptional, and therefore, was doomed to never fit in, wherever she went.

Joanne wasn't sure about that. She had gone through a period of trying to fit in, but was always either too black, too rich, too gay, too conservative, too feminine, too butch, too liberal…

She was too much of too many things and in the end, she simply stopped trying to be anyone but herself.

In that, she could argue that she and Maureen were the same, because Maureen could never fit in. Maureen was made to stand out. She was beautiful and crude, eccentric and loud and she was at her brightest when she was the center of attention.

Maureen didn't care what anyone thought of her, or perhaps cared too much. As much as Joanne could foresee how something like that would exasperate her in the future, at the moment, she admired the fierce determination to be anything but what was to be expected.

Joanne's biggest fear was to be insignificant. Maureen's, it seemed, was to be unexceptional.

Joanne stared at the sleeping face, buried into her shoulder as the taxi driver jerked the wheel and turned down the upscale neighborhood street, and wondered if they really were that different at all.

Joanne was a pragmatic and not as sentimental as some of her girlfriends would have liked, but she found herself reaching forward with slender fingertips and tracing the line of the strong jaw, feeling the soft puff of rhythmic breathing against her neck, edging digits through dark brown curls, as if by doing so, she could memorize the face. 

She had gotten used to Maureen. No, that wasn't true. Joanne wasn't sure she could ever get used to someone like Maureen. But she had come to accept her, enjoy her, and somehow, she couldn't quite acknowledge that this was the last day she could call Maureen her lover.

She had offered to back out of t his, uncharacteristically choosing another woman over her parents, suggesting to Maureen after their morning lovemaking that the day could be better spent elsewhere. A day trip to the beach. A walk through Central Park. A day in the country.

Instead, Maureen remained furiously determined to have lunch with her parents, and Joanne, not wanting to think on why Maureen was so bent on attending her parent's luncheon as her date, had taken her shopping for a change of clothing, as opposed to the same shirt and pants she had been wearing for the past three days.

Her Maureen was bohemian, that would never been ironed out of her, and smoothing over Maureen's new designer black jeans, it occurred to Joanne, she didn't want it to be.

Maureen's 'Marky' had called three times in as many days, and Maureen had taken the call each time, smooth and manipulative and still somehow sweet, and Joanne always left the room, unsure how Maureen could so obviously love her boyfriend and still crawl into her bed with her when she hung up the phone, pressing lips to her shoulder and wrapping arms around her waist. 

_"I'm not leaving him."_ The statement had been said at the beginning of all this, and Joanne knew it still stood.

And even now, though she knew that her life was much more simple, uncomplicated, and easier to manage without Maureen in it, she couldn't help but wonder if Maureen's mindset had changed at all.

No. Joanne grimaced and shifted in her seat, causing her sleeping companion to growl slightly in her sleep, snuggle in closer. Maureen was in this for the sex, the thrill, not the permanence. She could just imagine her response.

_"What is it with lesbians and their U-hauls!" she would drawl, rolling her eyes and flipping her curls out of her hair. "We have today. Isn't that enough?"_

No day but today. Joanne blinked, trying to remember where she had heard the phrase, why it had popped up then, until she remembered Hector, sitting at a café table, inviting her to an Aids support group meeting.

_"No day but today," he murmured, shrugging into his coat. "That's their mantra. Makes an ironic sort of sense, doesn't it?"_

Curling an arm tighter around Maureen, Joanne stared at the sleeping figure and glanced away, deciding that it, in fact, did.

--  
_"Your mother loves me," Maureen told her repeatedly, and it was a frustrating argument, however true it had once been, because however amused Joanne's parents were by Maureen's antics, that sentiment had gone distinctly sour the first time Maureen jumped on a table at their engagement party, threatened to flash the entire room, crawled over a pool table, and then became a fierce aggressor of their own break up._

Maureen always seemed to sense her frustration, and always answered with a smug smile, wrapping arms around her beloved and placing a peck of a kiss on Joanne's nose.

"She loved me once, she'll love me again," she said simply. "She's your mother, Pookie. The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree." 

That had aroused such a horrible image Joanne visibly blanched, and Maureen's laughter was loud and joyous, and despite herself, Joanne fell in love with her all over again.

Like always. 

--

"Your mother loves me," Maureen told her over a glass of champagne, wearing an amazingly proud smirk over her bright red lips. "She said she thinks I'm interesting."

Joanne tipped some more liquor into her mouth, spared from having to answer when she let it rest, considering the fact that her mother found many things 'interesting', and it wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Still, Maureen was expecting some sort of response, and so she swallowed down the champagne and managed a pleasing smile. "Well, you're anything but dull." 

That earned her an unusually bright smile, as Maureen wrapped an arm around her and pulled in, bringing Joanne flush against her chest, pressing a searing kiss against her mouth.

Released just as quickly, Joanne nearly tipped over her glass, cheeks burning bright red as she immediately began to glance around her, catching the eye of her father and mother, among other guests at the country club.

Seemingly oblivious to Joanne flustered reaction, Maureen happily took another swill over her champagne and dropped it on the nearest water's tray. "I'm gonna mingle. You coming?" 

Pressing her palm against the back of her neck, Joanne shook her head mutely. "I'll catch up," she mumbled, and Maureen seemed happy to leave her behind, heading straight for the bar. 

Sighing, Joanne contemplated the afternoon thus far, and decided that, since there had been no catastrophes, and her father genuinely seemed to be pleased with Maureen's eccentricities (which was surprising, but her father was always surprising, and truthfully, Joanne was sure he was so partial to Maureen because her mother was obviously befuddled and he liked to be contrary every once in a while); it had so far been as successful as it would ever be.

"God, Joanne," she whispered to herself, raising the glass to her lips. "You're not going to see her again after today." 

She watched as the older couples waltzed their way across the small space given to dancing, the small string quartet in the corner putting forth a jaunty tune.

"Well, are you two the cutest," came a voice, interjected so quietly and so close to her Joanne nearly shrieked, jerking and splashing a musing Cindy with champagne. "Holy shit, Joanne!"

Her friend, who seemed to have magically appeared at her elbow, was now wiping the droplets off her expensive blouse, shooting her a dark glare in the process.

"What the hell are you doing here?" It wasn't the most polite start to the conversation, but Joanne found herself entirely too frazzled to care. One eye on Maureen, who was now fully engaged in what seemed to be flirting with the waitress and speaking to her mother at the same time, she distractedly handed her mangled cocktail napkin to Cindy.

"Nice to see you too!" mumbled her friend, rolling her eyes and snatching the napkin. "Our parents became friends, or have you forgotten that much about our relationship?"

Cindy's bitterness increased significantly with every drink, and Joanne guessed she had already had more than one.

Honestly, it was getting tiring.

"You never come," she told her frankly. "Even when we were together, you said you'd rather-"

"-yeah, yeah," Cindy mumbled, bringing her sleeve to her nose, sniffing it for any leftover champagne smell. "I said I'd rather suck dick. Screw it, I got curious."

Eyes closing in silent frustration, Joanne slid hands into the pocket of her slacks to keep them from visibly curling. Cindy was a damn good lawyer, and it was because she went after her opponents with the viciousness of a predator on the Serengeti.

"Behave," Joanne mumbled under her breath, reaching for another glass of champagne as Cindy's eyes narrowed in on Joanne's lover across the floor. "Megan's not here to mediate and I really don't feel like putting up with your drunken bitterness bullshit."

"Joanne, seriously, what is this? You said you didn't want her, and the next thing I know she's living with you. You said she wasn't coming, and look, here she is." Cindy waved her hand emphatically toward Maureen, inadvertently catching her eye in the process. Pressing her lips together, Joanne kept silent, managing a thin smile for her lover. 

"I don't remember this being any of your business, Cindy."

"Joanne, I'm being a friend here." 

"No, you're being my bitter ex, and I'm not in the mood."

Her gaze was on Maureen, watching as her lover made her way back to her, until Cindy failed to respond. Turning back, she discovered cold eyes, and a trembling mouth. "Is that all you think I'm doing? Listen to me, Joanne. This whole party? People have been talking. They think you're slumming. At work? People are talking – your coworker Nicky? He's making people think you've got a reputation for banging worthless actresses, and you only got the Suddleson case because you're banging Antonia too. It's not enough that you spend sixty percent of your time doing pro bono work that no one gives a damn about. Now you're taking your work home with you. Your reputation is slipping, and your little fling is taking you down with her."

Maureen had to have been close, and Cindy, as much as she was trying to be quiet, had risen her voice in her anger. She could feel the eyes that were sinking into them, curious elders absorbed in drama, and for once, Joanne could give a flying fuck.

Coming forward, Joanne met the glare head on, blood boiling, eyes piercing into her friend's angry gaze.

"Enough. You've said your opinion and I've heard it. And you know what?" she breathed, coming forward closer. "I don't give a damn. I don't care what Nicky thinks. And right now, I don't care what you think. You're not sleeping with her, I am. I'm making my own choices, and you don't have to agree with them, but God Damn, Cindy, you have to respect them, and you will respect her. Or you can damn well count on me being out of your life for good." Slamming her glass down, she turned away, ready to catch Maureen and move her away from an impending confrontation with her now sputtering friend.

But she stalled, and her steps faltered, when she realized Maureen was no longer in the room.

--

"Looking for someone?" 

It was her father who caught her outside the country club's restaurant, holding a champagne glass in his hand and looking debonair and amused, his usual expression for these types of events. 

Swallowing, Joanne rubbed awkwardly at her neck, suddenly more than aware of the scene she had thrown in front of at least twenty of her father's nearest and dearest colleagues.

"Hi," she managed, stepping forward awkwardly. "You haven't seen my guest, have you?"

"Maureen?" When she nodded, he nodded back, motioning in the direction of the far-east game room at the end of the hallway. "She went that way."

Blowing out her breath, she nodded politely and cleared her throat. "Thank you."

There was a moment of silence, as if she was expecting some sort of reprimand, before her father merely smiled and she was dismissed. Turning to leave, she was caught by surprise when her father simply said, "I like this one, Joanne." 

Blinking, she paused, nearly cracking her heel in the process, as she turned and looked up her father.

"We're talking about the actress," Joanne confirmed, coming back with a step into the plush carpet. "The one that complimented Mother on her extensions when she wasn't wearing any? The one who said the best movie she had ever seen was Desperately Seeking Susan?"

He shrugged, as if amused by the thought. "She challenges you, Joanne. And it's the first time in a while I've seen some spark come out of you that isn't influenced by your work."

Her father was a man of few words, and so he simply toasted her, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, rounding her to head back into the restaurant, leaving her completely stunned.

--

She found Maureen perched on the pool table, massaging a stick suggestively, laughing with the William's boy, Matthew.

Taking a moment to take in the scene, Joanne wondered why it didn't bother her, to see Maureen's hand linger at the buttons of Matthew's shirt, leaning in just a little too far, laughing just a little too loud. Maybe it was just that – Maureen was trying too hard, and for once, there seemed to be a smile there that didn't reach her eyes.

Coming forward, she crossed arms and stepped into the game room, offering Matthew a polite smile before interrupting, eyes on Maureen. "Can I speak to you please?"

Mouth still pulled into an almost frightening smile, Maureen arched an eyebrow, swinging booted heels against the table. "Where's your friend?"

"Drinking herself into stupidity." That at least, managed to bring back the beginning of a glimmer in those usually shimmering orbs, and Joanne felt the tightness in her chest ease slightly. "Matthew, would you give us a second."

When Maureen simply shrugged, Matthew shook his head, punching Joanne's shoulder softly in that white guy fraternity way.

"Oww."

Maureen smiled thinly, opening her legs so that her knees pressed in lightly at Joanne's hips. Hands smoothed over her waist and then settled on her shoulders, and Joanne found herself suddenly relieved when Maureen's forehead fell against hers, eyelids fluttering against her cheek.

"This place blows," Maureen whispered reverently, and Joanne suddenly snorted, nearly cracking their heads together. "Seriously. Even the dancing sucks."

"The dancing does not suck," Joanne murmured, matching Maureen's widening grin with one of her own.

"Watching a bunch of old fogies stumble their way across the dance floor qualifies as sucking, Joanne. Even the music sucks."

The music, wafting in from the speakers above the door, was a particular favorite of Joanne's. A tango, 'Por Una Cabeza'.

She wasn't in the mood to argue, and so she simply, gently, extricated herself from Maureen's arms and stepped back, holding onto one hand. "Come here."

Maureen was definitely unsure where she was going, but always up for a challenge, her lover followed her, stepping into her embrace as Joanne straightened her shoulders and assumed a tight hold.

"Just follow me."

It was difficult at first, until Maureen began to trust her to lead, and then Joanne began a gentle, basic tango, eyes always on Maureen's, moving her gently with pushes and pulls, around the pool table.

The surprise in Maureen's eyes was evident, and never one to purely follow, Maureen began to add her own wild edge to the dance, as Joanne's basic framework became a playground for them both. There was a skip there, a wobble once in a while, but her form was steady and somehow, they made it work. Soon Maureen was laughing, and when Joanne led her into a firm dip, Maureen's eyes darkened, held her gaze steadily. Suddenly, Maureen's arm slipped over her neck, her head rose and their lips clung together, moaning into the sweetest kiss Joanne had ever experienced from Maureen.

Soft lips brushed against her own as they were trying to paint a word across her mouth, and Joanne was breathless, when Maureen broke the kiss slowly, tracing her thumb over the area that had just been so savored.

"Let's get out of here," Maureen whispered roughly.

--

They went to a dance club, filled with woman who gyrated to the music. In the crowd, Maureen was their queen, screaming at the top of her lungs wordless sounds of joy, voice carrying above the crowd to blend effortlessly into the music. 

Joanne followed her willingly, unable to keep from touching Maureen, kissing Maureen, sweating with exertion as she danced like she hadn't danced in years, with loud throbbing music that broke into her skull and freed her soul.

In the midst of it all, at the height of her ecstasy, Maureen straddled her waist, grabbed hold of her head with two hands, and kissed her deeply, hungrily, as if it were for the very last time.

"I love you," Maureen told her in a soft, velvety, voice when they were naked and in her bed, so intertwined Joanne didn't know where she ended and Maureen began. Joanne, drugged with sleep, could do nothing but mumble incoherently in response.

The next morning, as the sunshine invaded her eyes and forced her to wrap around a pillow instead of a warm body, Joanne's senses came to her and she realized she was alone.

As fast as Maureen had jetted into her life and settled into her bed, Maureen had left it.

-- _end chapter_


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 14.**

_They say that I'm cool  
They tell me I'm strong  
Everyone says it's better now that you're gone  
So how come everything feels wrong?_  
-- 'Everything Feels Wrong', by Bree Sharpe

Joanne was a realist. Maureen hadn't been her whole life, she had been a flash in the pan, and Joanne had known that. She had been prepared for it.

Her scent lingered in Joanne's sheets, so she washed them. Maureen's red lipstick stained three of her coffee cups, and so she washed those too.

Left behind was Maureen's bra, discovered when Joanne stepped into her shower to begin her day, hanging like a black spider on her towel rack.

Coming forward to take it delicately in her fingers, Joanne fingered the fragile fabric and when the question flitted into her mind: if Maureen had left it behind on purpose, she pushed it away.

Instead she stared hard at it as if she could picture Maureen wearing it.

A moment of weakness, and she turned back around, folding it into a neat little pile and putting it in the back of her underwear drawer, and went on with her day.

--

The elevators opened with a swish, and still Joanne lingered, taking a moment to inhale, ready to take her life back.

Fingers tightening around the handle of her briefcase, she moved forward on her heels, posture perfect, eyes straight ahead, heading without distraction to her office, until she spotted Nicky's door open.

Hesitated, Joanne slowed, and when Nicky caught her attention, rising from his desk, her eyes narrowed automatically. For once, she didn't out run him.

"Joanne!" Grinning, his was voice was too loud, as if welcoming all listeners into their conversation. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Yes," she agreed stiffly. "At least there's a cure for what I have."

That was enough to give him pause, smile faltering slightly mid-nod. "Pardon?"

"Nicky," she began, stepping forward, glancing first at the floor and then at him. "Do you have a problem with me handling the Suddelson case?"

"What would give you that impression, Joanne?"

"The fact that you've resorted to trash talking me like this is some sort of school playground," Joanne answered, arms crossed in front of her, eyes dark and glare even.

She didn't expect him to admit to it, and so when he crossed his arms, mimicked her pose, and simply stared her down, she couldn't help but smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered.

Chest rising in a disbelieving snort, Joanne stepped away, turning back in the direction of her office. "Jealous, Nicky?" she asked. His expression tightened in response.

She continued her walk, and released the breath she didn't know she had been holding, as she approached Steven.

"Get Antonia and Hector Suddelson on the phone," she said without waiting for a proper greeting. "I want to set up a meeting today as soon as possible."

"But you've got your interviews with the Sanchez's today," he said, getting up and following her into her office. "Remember? Over in the Village?"

Briefcase falling onto her desk with a clap, Joanne's hand lingered on the finished polish.

The Village.

"Cancel it," she said crisply. "I've got too much on my plate right now to take on another pro bono client."

Steven's eyes widened, obviously surprised. "But Joanne."

"Call them and refer them to Cindy Waters," she said, "She owes me a favor."

"That's my Jefferson." It was Mr. Finch in the doorway, stepping into her office, obviously pleased. "Staying on focus."

"Mr. Finch," she said, nodding politely, dismissing Stephen with a look. "How are you?"

"Getting better by the second," he answered. "I have to be honest, Jefferson, I was worried about you."

A wave of irritation rankled it's way up her spine, but Joanne kept her face carefully closed, remained standing. "You don't have to worry about me, sir."

He smiled. "Chip off the ole' block, right Jefferson?"

"Absolutely."

He pointed his finger at her, a smile on his face, and Joanne remained stiff as he walked away.

The door closed, and she closed her eyes, rubbed at her chest and deliberately didn't think about Maureen.

Still, when Steven came in a few seconds later with her coffee, Joanne opened her eyes and waved him off, too nauseous to even attempt to drink the bitter liquid.

--

Red was Antonia's color, and she wore it like royalty. The dress she had chosen clung to her slender, athletic frame, teeny spaghetti straps accenting the lean lines of the collar bone and the swanline delicacy of her neck.

Her make up was subtle, and this evening, her hair was blow dried straight. She was polite and courteous to the waiter, perfectly at ease as she perused the wine list. She chose something moderately priced with a fruity flavor, and she tilted the champagne glass into her nose, eyelids fluttering as she inspected the quality.

Finger tilted against her temple, Joanne found herself staring, curiously numb, as if she were watching a beautiful actress in a movie.

Bringing down her wine glass, Antonia caught her gaze, and her mouth tilted up into an uncertain smile.

"What?"

It was a different Joanne that sat at the dinner, almost as if something inside of her had closed off. She could hear herself saying the words, playing the part, like this was some sort of game.

"I'm wondering what a beautiful woman like you is doing in a place like this with someone like me."

Perfectly arched eyebrows rose into the tanned forehead, and Antonia tilted her head in response. "Don't tell me you're insecure."

"Not in the slightest," Joanne agreed, a grin on her face. "But your brother talked to me."

Visibly stilling, Antonia's tongue darted out to swipe across her top lip before bringing down her shoulders, releasing the glass of wine to lean back in her chair. "I assume it wasn't about the case. It never is. He could care less."

"He has his reasons," Joanne answered, and Antonio rolled her eyes in response. "Actually, he inferred that you and I were headed for something of a more intimate nature. I don't know if he was more worried about me or you."

Dark eyes met with hers, darkening with intensity. "I can take care of myself," Antonia answered, a tinge of sharpness invading her tone.

"So I gathered." The wine Antonia had chosen was a good one, and Joanne let it swirl into her mouth, felt the hint of cherry, an earthy tone.

"… And…" Antonia fingered the stem of her glass. "I don't think I've really been subtle about what I want." Hazel orbs glanced up suddenly, locked with hers intensely. "I'm not afraid of trying new things, Joanne. If I want something, I go for it."

"And now you want me."

"Desperately." A phantom smirk floated on Joanne's face, because that attitude reminded her of someone else. The thought both intrigued and repulsed her. "So… I guess the real question remains: what are your intentions?"

Her intentions. Joanne wondered how honest she should be, sitting there talking about her next relationship like they were negotiating a contract.

It was almost refreshing, when she thought about it. A stark contrast to her most recent lover, who came to her with no guarantees, no commitments, nothing but the pure exhilaration followed by the hard crash of reality.

"My intensions are simple," she said finally, pushing aside the stem of her wine glass and leaning forward. "I'm attracted to you." Her companion's mouth twitched. "I intend on seducing you, and if that leads to a relationship, I'm open to it. However, if that's going to upset the case, or our working relationship…"

Antonia seemed to consider that, nodding and visibly swallowing. "It's a gamble."

"Yes."

Silence fell over the table, and in that moment, there was a flash, when brunette hair went from straight to curly, and hazel eyes were replaced by brown.

"Your cousin." Blinking, Joanne rediscovered Antonia, teeth digging oddly into her lower lip. "She's… she's better?"

"Better?"

"As in gone."

The statement hit her harder than she wanted to admit, and she blew out her breath slowly, eyes on the rich wine Antonia had chosen.

"She's gone," she confirmed. "She's all better, and I won't be seeing her for a while."

The words left her mouth, and in them, came their reality.

"Good." Settling back, Antonia was sultry, sexy and desirable. "Then I want you to make love to me."

The urge to bury herself in a woman's body was undeniable, and so Joanne smiled, and poured another glass of wine.

--

_"So tell me the truth," Maureen asked, one day, out of the blue, while they were on the subway, rocking back and forth, on the way to her performance space. "The week after I left: What did you do?" _

Buried in her long trenchcoat, Joanne reached up and readjusted her tie, eyebrow arching as across from her, her girlfriend nudged her toe against her Doc Martins.

"What do you mean?" she asked, nudging back, against Maureen's harsher, more stylish boots.

Her lover grinned, white teeth against red lipstick, and settled her palms against the seats beside her, teetering playfully. "You know," she said, eyes with hers connecting across the subway. "Did you miss me?"

Joanne was never quite sure why Maureen needed the validation she continued to ask for. Honestly, she would have preferred to not bring up the time after Maureen left, after their first weekend together, because to remember it would mean to remember ALL of it, and sometimes, it still pissed her off. To remember just how manipulative Maureen could be when she wanted something badly enough.

"Pookie?"

Sighing, Joanne straightened, and shrugged. "I went to work. I was myself again."

Snapping her gum loudly, something she knew Joanne hated, Maureen crossed her arms and slumped in her seat, eyes rolling heavenwards. "That's not what I asked."

Shoving cold hands into her pockets, she studied the contrast of the woman across from her, the carefully applied make up, the thick curly hair, the striking features that someone would even say might be TOO severe, but always beautiful.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, so quiet and unexpected it even startled her. Maureen's brow furrowed, her mouth opening before snapping closed to chew on her gum.

There was a snort, an exhalation, and a crossing of her arms. That was her answer.

It was nothing, and frustrated, Joanne looked down the nearly empty subway car, at the a business man sitting across from a homeless man, the two staring wearily at each other like they were old friends.

Sudden warmth against her alerted her to her lover, as Maureen settled in beside her, purposely pulling open Joanne's trenchcoat with her gloved fingers.

Used to this, Joanne let it open, as Maureen smiled triumphantly when Joanne held the lapel of her coat spread out, allowing her lover to slip into the warm spot between the outer coat and her already warm torso.

Cold fingers slipped underneath her blazer, and Joanne turned her head, staring down at the figure cuddled against her as Joanne's coat came in around her, firmly cocooning her in. Maureen had her chin on her shoulder, staring up at her with unspoken adoration.

"Of course I missed you," Maureen answered, brushing a kiss against Joanne's chin. "I came back, didn't I?"

Joanne glanced down at the soft brown eyes, and leaned down, brushing her lips softly. "Yes, you did."

"Did you miss me?"

Joanne smiled privately. Maureen was relentless. Thumb tracing against her forehead, Joanne finally stopped dodging the question.

"Yes, baby. I missed you." Maureen smiled, and Joanne sighed. "Everything felt wrong when you weren't with me."

Maureen grinned, settling against her almost smugly. "I knew it."

Yes, she did. Joanne was entirely too predictable when it came to Maureen.

"Joanne?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Everything felt wrong for me too."

"I knew it," she replied dryly.

Maureen pinched her in response.

--

"So why are we here?"

Joanne smiled, tightening her hold on the beautiful woman at her side, fully aware of the attention Antonia was getting. It amused her, but Antonia seemed almost nervous, curling into her side, behind her, not at all like Maureen, who pushed her way through, clinging onto her hand and shouting over her shoulder for Joanne to keep up.

"We're having fun," Joanne told her, taking the other woman and raising their joined hands above the taller woman's head, allowing the girl to twirl in her arms. Antonia had to smile at that, as Joanne used the opportunity to pull her in closer, palms spread against her ribs.

It was a perfect moment to kiss her, and so Joanne did. It was a nice kiss, soft and full of promise, and Antonia kissed her like she was expecting it, with a pant against her lips, and a soft moan that seemed almost like clockwork.

Another chaste press, and Joanne pulled away, looking into sparkling hazel eyes, feeling soft fingers knitted together at the nape of her neck.

"That does make me feel better," Antonia said, a soft murmur, and Joanne grinned. "Bathroom?"

"I think I better stay here," she said, and Antonia smiled and blushed, stepping away and working her way through the crowd.

Joanne's smile ached, and she swallowed without meaning to, palm against her mouth and moving for the bar.

At the bar was a beautiful brunette, who caught her eye and smiled, waving her over. Joanne wondered how it was she ended up with nearly all brunette friends. It certainly said something for her type.

"Hey!" Megan twittered, holding her straw daintily against her lips, pushing gently at the crowd to make room for her. "I didn't know you'd be here tonight!"

Joanne gave her a welcoming kiss on her cheek, and waited for the bartender to notice her. "Just stopping in for a few minutes."

"Not in the mood to party?"

"Not so much."

Megan's smile turned pained, getting to business now that the frivolities were over. "I should let you know, Cindy's here tonight."

Joanne exhaled, eyes rolling up to the ceiling of the club.

"I know, I heard." Megan was all comismeration and sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"It's Cindy's problem. Not mine." Still, she couldn't help the tightness in her chest, when she looked up and discovered her estranged friend just a few feet away, eyes leveled on her intensely. "Oh, God."

"Okay, relax," Cindy said, hand out, as if to ward off a blow. "Before you start in on me, I want to say something."

"You do."

"Yes, I do," Cindy snapped, "And stop being so damned sarcastic. Listen – I was thinking a lot about what you said, and I've come to the conclusion – shut up, Megan-" she warned, palm up to an already ready to interrupt Megan. Their friend shut her mouth immediately, closing lips around her straw, possibly in an effort to keep it occupied. "That you were right. Look…" Cindy sighed raggedly, brushing bangs from her face. "Maybe I'm not completely over you and me, and maybe it's affected the way I've been taking this. The truth is I don't think Maureen's good for you-"

She shut her eyes, squinting past her looming headache. "Cindy-"

"But," Cindy continud. "I know that she's made you more excited about a woman than you've been in forever. I mean – she makes you come alive, and I see that and I recognize that. I can learn to be okay with Maureen. If she's what you want, then I'm happy for you. There. I said it. I need a drink."

Joanne kept quiet, as Cindy pushed her way forward and reached with her hand, catching the bartender by the sleeve. "Give me a Malibu Rum with Pineapple. You?"

Eyebrow rising into her forehead, Joanne wondered if her friend had, in fact, gone insane. "Cosmo," she said finally. "And one for my friend."

"Oh, she's here?" Cindy asked, and Megan shrugged. Turning towards Joanne, she seemed to mentally gear up, hopping lightly on her feet and pasting on her best smile. "Let's meet her. I'm ready."

But it wasn't Maureen that came forward. Instead, Antonia found them, still clearly uncomfortable in the all female crowd, head rising in greeting as Joanne opened her hand, reeling her in. Antonia smiled gratefully. Suppressing a smirk at the goggle-eyed look on Cindy's face, she palmed the small of Antonia's back, a posessive gesture. "You okay?"

"I'll be okay," Antonia answered, firm and to the point.

Her friends were still staring, and so Joanne turned to them both. "Antonia, meet Cindy and Megan."

"Hello," Antonia, a sincere, appropriate smile on her beautiful face.

There was a moment of stillness, as if both women were still recovering from the shock of not meeting who they expected. Joanne waited, shaking her head in bemused exhasperation as Megan finally sprang to life, splashing her drink on her fingers as she shook Antonia's hand a little too eagerly.

"Hi! I'm sorry! It's been a long night. So nice to meet you!"

"I… uh- Cindy…" Cindy responded, following suit, face bright red. "SO nice to meet you. GREAT hair!"

Megan snorted, and Joanne shook her head, as Antonia glanced at her uncertainly.

"Thank you," she answered.

What ensued was an awkward silence, no one quite knowing what to say, and Joanne, quite simply, not in the mood to try and break the ice. It was Megan, always gracious, who finally placed her drink on the bar and opened her palm to her new friend. "Antonia, would you like to dance?"

The music had built to a nice, pulsing beat, and Joanne immediately let her go, nodding when Antonia glanced at her.

"Be back in a bit," Antonia said.

"We'll leave as soon as you do," Joanne promised, and Antonia grinned, squeezing her hand, lingering until she had to let go.

Cindy was quiet, eyes on Antonia and Megan, as the two woman joined the crowd.

"So… no more Maureen," she finally ventured.

Accepting her drink with a thanking nod to the bartender, Joanne took in a gulp of the flavored vodka, ignoring the bitter taste that came with it. "Yes. I told you it was just for the weekend, Cindy."

"Well, I know but…" Sliding a long glance at her, Cindy's words died in her throat. "Nevermind." Bringing her drink to her mouth, she took a small sip. "She's nice."

"She is," Joanne confirmed, eyes on Antonia. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "If I wasn't sensitive enough about our break up."

"You weren't feeling it," Cindy answered, eyes darting away. "I have to deal with that. Not you." Joanne was sweaty, and she felt awkward, heated throughout. "I'm sorry about Maureen."

She closed her eyes, fighting the shiver that slid up her spine. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

They remained quiet, elbows on the bar. A moment later, Cindy laid a light touch against her shoulder, pressing gently, and then letting go.

--

_End chapter _


	15. Chapter 15

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 15.**

_And almost immediately  
I felt sorry  
Because I didn't think this would happen again  
No matter what I could do or say  
Just that I didn't think this would happen again  
With or without my best intentions_  
-- 'Fuck And Run' Liz Phair

"So, before we begin, why don't we all introduce ourselves?"

"Sam." 

"Patty."

"Angel."

"Hector." 

Raising her chin, Joanne felt suddenly self conscious, as the somber looking group all looked in her direction, all eyes on her. 

Throat gone dry, she managed to swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back into it, and glancing uncertainly at Hector, she smiled faintly.

"Joanne."

There was a smile and a pinkie wave from a Hispanic looking young man across from her, and she nodded, feeling a warm flush tickle her cheeks. The attention shifted, and she turned her head, as her beautiful girlfriend straightened, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Eyes locking with hers, Antonia seemed uncertain, and when Joanne arched an eyebrow, a small smile working it's way on her lips, she exhaled, and put on a bright smile. "Antonia. Hi."

The circle went around, three more names, and then the group lapsed into an awkward silence. Hector, hair scruffy from his fussing with it, looked skinnier than she remembered, but his smile was genuine, as he glanced at her, then Antonia, and turned his attention back toward the group.

Nervous and unsure why, Joanne kept quiet. She had purposely left her tie and suit at home, determined to be a friend, not a lawyer, but even in this, she was an outsider. Beside her, her girlfriend faired no better. She was twitchy, nervous, two new looks on the usually calm woman.

A woman began to talk about the disease, about discrimination from work, and beside her, Antonia shifted, hands clenched together, eyes on the ground.

It was distracting, to look from one twin, calm and relaxed Hector, wearing a tired, happy expression, laughing with a group that he seemed to regard as family, and the sister beside him, so obviously uncomfortable.

Around them were regular men and women. Some looked healthier than she did. Others, like Hector, were minutely fragile. But there was life in each of them. Victims of the AIDS epidemic through their own actions or victims of circumstances, these were the individuals fighting for the will to live their own life, even if it was on borrowed time.

When the circle rose, Joanne rose with them, grabbing hold of Hector's hand, stating the creed, her voice filling in with those around her.

For once, she wasn't too black or too female or too healthy. She was simply a friend.

--

Antonia had left the room almost immediately after the group was dismissed. Distracted, Joanne shook the hand of Hector's friend, and then smiled apologetically, heading in a fast walk toward the doors of the rec room.

She found Antonia on the steps of the building, a cigarette between her lips, a shaking lighter in her hands.

Shutting the door carefully behind her, Joanne watched the minute clues to Antonia's agitated state, as the woman buried herself deeper into her coat, and took in a long, almost desperate draw from the little white stick.

"I didn't know you smoked," she said quietly. Head jerking up, Antonia caught sight of her, and immediately looked away, stepping into the pavement, heels clicking on the concrete.

"I know," Antonia drawled, a puff of smoke floating from her pursed lips. "It's not incredibly PC of me, but you try running a billion dollar company with out some addiction."

"I wasn't judging you," Joanne said tenderly, now just a foot away, staring hard into the unusually rattled face. "Are you okay?" 

Face purposely closed, Antonia deliberately took another puff, letting the end flare bright orange with the oxygen. "I'm fantastic," she said civilly. "My brother's dying and the people in there are making a party out of it."

Joanne's lips pressed together. "That's not what that was, Toni." 

"Oh, really?" Shaking her head, Antonia dropped the cigarette, ground it into the street with her red heels. "Those people in there want to be defined by their disease. They're acting like their life is over because of it. Hector's acting like he's already dead, and that 'LIFE group' is patronizing him."

"It's about living with the disease, not dying from it," Joanne snapped. "And they're not the ones who define them that way, it's the rest of us with the problem. They're just the ones that have to cope."

"It was me that told my brother to go to every bathhouse in the state and get fucked in the ass by every gay guy in the East Village? Was that me, Joanne?"

"Stop it."

Antonia's clear eyes had gone red and moist, and overwhelmed, she suddenly seemed to give up, shoulders dropping and hand covering her mouth. "FUCK." Turning away, she stamped her foot, like a little girl trying to get over her tantrum. "I told you I didn't want to come to this."

At a loss for words, Joanne was frozen, unsure how to cope with Antonia's grief bubbling to the surface so suddenly.

"He was a selfish bastard," she heard, as Antonia wiped at her eyes, atomically curling around her lids to avoid blurring her mascara. "He never cared about me. He never cared about Dad. It was always what HE wanted, and now he's dying, and he's my BROTHER, Joanne."

"I know," she replied quietly. "But it's not about what you feel right now, Antonia. It's about how he feels."

Antonia's smile was forced. "Didn't you see him in there? He's doing great."

Firmly entrenched in this, Joanne didn't know what else to say. The obvious betrayal in Antonia's eyes was unexpected, a mirror of repression and the breaking of a façade. The lawsuit was Antonia's way of coping with the imminent death of her twin brother, and somehow, her way of validating it.

"Have you talked to him about this?" she asked finally. "About how you feel?"

"It wouldn't matter. Hector didn't listen to anyone. You think Dad wanted to give the company to me? He groomed Hector for it from the start – Hector didn't want it. Hector threw away everything that was given to him, and for what?"

Stepping forward, Joanne shivered in the wind, reaching for her lover, but Antonia only stepped away, wiping hastily at her tears and shaking her head.

"I'm late for a meeting. Will I see you tonight?"

Mutely, she nodded, feeling the brush of cold lips against her cheek as Antonia hailed a cab, and then stepped into it.

Movement at the doors forced her to turn her head and discover Hector, zipping up his pull over, colored eyes watching as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

When she smiled weakly, he nodded in response. "Lunch?"

-- 

"So what's it like?" Hector drawled, as soon as the waiter from the Life Cafe took their menus from them, dropping sweetener in his iced tea.

"What's what like?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. She sat perfectly still, mimicking his relaxed pose, eyes straight ahead.

She had protested coming to this place, when it became obvious that this was where her girlfriend's twin wanted to come. But there were only so many ways she could protest what he called his favorite haunt before admitting to the truth, which wasn't something she was prepared to do.

Now, she sat still and kept her gaze on the pretty boy Suddelson, breathing in and out in an effort to calm herself down, remind herself that Maureen couldn't possibly be here ALL the time.

"You know what," he said, corner of his mouth lifting up like Elvis, eyebrows waggling like a Marx brother. "Datin' my sister. She as much of a nightmare for girls as she is for guys?"

When he grinned wickedly, she snorted, wrinkling up her straw wrapper and tossing it at him. "She's a handful," she admitted, shoulders shrugging in mock defeat. "But more or less she's what I expected."

"Ah – had your share of spoiled rich girls?" Crossing hands against the back of his head, he eyed her.

"Well, compared to the French Ambassador's daughter, she's a picnic." Which was true. While Marie had taught her the finer points of the Tango, Argentinian and International Standard, the girl's demands had left a hapless sixteen year old Joanne nearly beaten in her wake. "She's a woman," Joanne said, as if that answered everything. "And they're pretty much unpredictable."

"Why I don't date them," Hector confirmed, grabbed a crust of bread and shoving it into his mouth. "Guys have one thing on their mind – makes it really simple."

She grinned. Hector had a sense of humor that was dry and just a little sarcastic. She liked it.

"To be honest, it's a relief," she said simply, taking a sip of water. "To be in a relationship where I know what's expected of me."

"What that's mean?"

Hesitating, Joanne caught her breath, and suddenly smiled uneasily. "Nothing." 

The noise level of the Life Café hit a sudden crescendo, when the door twinkled open, and a familiar laugh sent a heated spike through her insides.

Unable to stop from turning her head, Joanne found herself frozen, eyes on Maureen Johnson, moving through the café, carrying a stack of flyers.

The force of the emotion that hit her was almost suffocating, seared onto the haunting image of her former lover, bright-eyed and beautiful, flirting with a man and a woman, holding her flyer up like she was offering herself with it.

"Joanne?"

Her name, said in a concerned, gentle tone, broke her of her staring, and she jerked her head, focusing once again on the pretty boy across from her.

"Yeah."

Chewing on his bread, Hector's eyes slid from her flushed face to the image of Maureen just a few feet away. "Cute."

"If you like the type," she muttered, reaching for her water, suddenly parched. 

"And you do." It was at that moment that she felt a shiver run up her spine. Closing her eyes in haunted frustration, she curled fingers into fists, and ignored the heated rush when Hector mused, "She's looking at you."

"Hector," she squeaked, eyes opening, mouth now a thin line. "I'm dating your sister."

He seemed almost amused by that, but he nodded, like a chastened school boy. "Yes you are. And if you hurt her I'd be put out."

"I'm sure," she said, eyes on Hector, only on Hector. The prickles of sweat uncomfortably gathered at her collar, but she kept still, pushing palms flat against the table, ignoring the sudden flash of Maureen, back arched, nipples proud and perfect, coming in the melodic hum.

"I'm serious," he insisted, once again bringing her back to earth. "I need you to stay on good ground with her, because I need you to do me a favor."

Exhaling loudly, Joanne straightened, trying hard to keep her focus on Hector's mouth, pulse now pounding, head throbbing with the sound of her rushing blood.

"What's that?"

"I need you to convince Antonia to drop this lawsuit."

The pounding stopped. There was dead silence, deafening, as her eyes finally seemed to see him, and her mouth dropped open, shock overtaking her nerves. "What?"

"I want it stopped," he said. "I need it dropped." Crystal eyes were clear, staring into her own intensely, beseechingly.

Stuttering, Joanne took in a deep breath, eyes shutting and opening again as she considered what he was saying. "I… Hector… we're in court next week."

"I know. I know you've put God Knows how many hours into this, and I know that it's a huge deal, and I know that what I'm asking my lawyer is a shitty thing to ask. I know asking my sister's girlfriend to talk to her instead of me is a coward's way out. And if I didn't have to ask my friend Joanne to do it, I wouldn't. But you're all three things, Joanne, and you're my salvation."

It was as if he had taken her lifeboat and capsized it, and then asked her to save them both.

"She'll listen to you. I'm losing T-Cells every day, Joanne. I don't want what's left of me to be splashed on the news like some fucking cause. I thought I could handle it, for Toni's sake. Do one thing for her instead of it being the other way around, like it's always been. But I can't do it. I gotta live, and I'm not going to do it being a press martyr."

Her breath was ragged, and Joanne was suddenly tired, exhausted of all of it, as her head lowered and her fingers weakly massaged at her temple, pain spiking through her brain.

"Hector…"

"I know. I know." Fingers pulled her own away from her head, tightened and locked them together. Head rising, Joanne took in the desperate, broken look. "But I can't, Jo. I can't."

It was all too much. Extracting her hand as gently as she could, she smiled pitifully, and nodded.

"Okay," she said, voice husky, head swimming with the chore he had laid at her feet – endangering her career, her new relationship, her position at her company… "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Joanne, I'm sorry."

"I know." Her knees were shaky, but she stood. "I'll be right back."

She moved unsteadily, away from Hector and towards the bathroom, not seeing anyone, until she fumbled for the old wooden door, and pushed inside the musty smelling bathroom.

Struggling with the faucet, Joanne let the water run, hands on the cold porcelain of the sink, staring up into the scratched, graffiti-ed mirror at a tired version of herself.

There was a low rap at the door, questioning. 

"Occupied," she called out hoarsely, and the door opened anyway.

It was Maureen who stepped into her space, for once not smiling, not laughing, but wearing a somber, concerned frown.

Curiously numb, Joanne just watched, as the other woman pressed the door closed in behind her, and flipped the lock. 

Maureen didn't move, back against the door, hands folded behind her. "Are you okay?"

Joanne simply stared, at the hauntingly beautiful vision before her, large brown eyes focused on her, like she was the only one that mattered.

"I just… I saw you and your friend and you looked… I don't know what you looked like, but it… it wasn't good."

Joanne shut her eyes against the raw ache in her heart, laughing weakly, bitterly. "No, it wasn't good." The water was still running, and Joanne, in an attempt for some measure of control, shut off the faucet, hearing the squeak of the metal. "What are you doing in here, Maureen?"

A moment of silence, and then, "I was worried about you."

She allowed a grimace in response. "Was it too much trouble to say goodbye?" Glancing up, she discovered Maureen startled, unsure of the direction of the conversation. "When you left," she clarified, "Three weeks ago. Or have you forgotten already?"

Maureen shut her mouth, eyes darting to the floor. "I didn't forget." 

Joanne stared at her, unable to look away, at the black jeans she herself had purchased, the black halter top and the white jacket over it. Large earrings and a Jewish nose.

Maureen audibly sucked her breath in, glancing up to meet her glare. "Look, I just came in here to make sure you were okay. It was the decent thing to do."

"Well, don't worry about it, honeybear," Joanne answered, suddenly acidic. "I'm fine."

The tone was meant to be hurtful, and it was. There was a measure of emotion that flitted over Maureen's face. Joanne's mouth quirked in response, a perverted sense of validation, as Maureen's chin came up and her fingers began to fumble with the door knob.

"Glad to hear it," Maureen snapped.

Joanne was prepared to let her go, stood still with her arms crossed as Maureen turned the knob, opened the door.

Until her feet began to move, and her palm pushed against the wooden door, slamming it closed, trapping the other woman between herself and the hard surface.

Startled into submission, Maureen's pants were moist on her chin, and Joanne registered her heat against her, the warm, pliant body keening into her. And then her head lowered, and her mouth spread hotly against those lips, feeling the sudden rush and exhilaration of the aching familiarity of Maureen's tongue. The moan she drew from Maureen's mouth was intoxicating, and she pressed harder, pushing her thigh between the other woman's legs, feeling the rush that came with the prickles of pain as Maureen dug fingernails into her scalp.

When Maureen whispered her name against her lips, Joanne's mind caught up to her body, her heart.

Stiffening, she broke away, trapped in Maureen's arms, looking down onto swollen lips, bright, lust-glazed eyes.

"Joanne?"

"Fuck," she whispered, and stepped away, ignoring Maureen's confusion, grabbing hold of the door knob and jerking it open, pushing past Maureen, walking away from the bathroom as fast as she could. 

--  
_End chapter _


	16. Chapter 16

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Email: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for sexual situations between two women.  
**Chapter 16. **

_Baby I've been here before  
I've seen this room  
And I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone  
Before I knew you_

I've seen your flag   
On the marble arch  
But love is not some victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah   
-- 'Hallelujah'  
--  
_"You know, I think we've met before," Joanne said to Angel, the night of Maureen's performance, sometime after her official introduction. _

The drag queen had a beautiful smile, and he- she- grinned brightly, throwing an arm around her and squeezing her tight. "I knew it! You were with Hector! That one time!"

At the mention of her friend her smile faded somewhat, but she nodded. "Yeah. I didn't recognize you because you…" she smiled bashfully, suddenly feeling awkward. "You were wearing men's clothes."

"Guilty as charged," Angel said, mock horror on his face, palms pressed against his cheeks. "Forgive me, Mami, it happens once in a while."

"Well, you're beautiful in any incarnation."

"THANK you, sweetie! What a nice thing to say!"

Head lowering, she licked her lips and glanced up. "Did you go to Hector's funeral?"

Angel's smile faltered, and she crossed her arms, shrugging. "Wasn't invited," he… she said simply, unashamed, and Joanne nodded, aware of the stir a drag queen could cause among those people. "Though I heard it was the most exclusive social event of the year."

Joanne's smile was pained. "You could say that. I visited his grave, after. I go once a month at least." Angel quirked her head, black wig glossy and shiny in the lights of the café. "You should come with me sometime."

Brown eyes sparkled with life, and Joanne couldn't help but return the bright smile directed at her. "It's a deal, honey."

From the across the room, Joanne caught Maureen's eye, nodding in loving recognition as her girlfriend, in the middle of what was apparently girl talk with the Puerto Rican girl, Mimi, waved and sent a kiss her way.

"Maureen, huh?" Angel asked, and Joanne had to laugh at the wonder in her voice, as if trying to figure out exactly what Joanne was thinking. 

"Yeah," she said, in commiseration, catching her eye, before they both erupted into sudden laughter. The laughter died as suddenly as it began, as she glanced around the bar, Mark with his camera, his roommate Roger enamored of his new girl, Maureen now moving onto playing thumb wars with Collins. "He really liked this place."

"Who wouldn't? It's a great place!" Joanne smiled faintly, and took her beer, raising it to drink before she thought better of it, turning to her new friend.

"To Hector," she said.

Angel's eyes were kind, warm, and she clinked their bottles together delicately, always a lady.

"To Hector." 

--

That afternoon, she spent at the office, in a shirt and tie she had shrugged on between meetings, suspenders pulled up and tightened, booted heels shined.

In between meetings, phone calls, and her increasing addiction to the new email interface, Joanne had put immersed herself in her work, in the utter hope she would consume herself whole, and drown.

Her promise, extracted from Hector, to drop the case, convince Antonia to let it go, remained forefront in her mind like a coming tidal wave, and still, her weakness would give and she would feel Maureen's searing kisses on her mouth.

Coming home, Joanne was no longer alone. Three weeks into their relationship, Antonia had made herself welcome in Joanne's apartment, despite the startling lesbian cliché of it. Their combined work schedules had left little time for actual dates, and because of that, there was usually only moments, dinner, spending the night.

"You don't think it's too much, do you?" Antonia asked one day, when she had brought over her own shampoo, her own toothbrush.

Thinking of the person who had most recently made herself so at home in her place, Joanne had reassured her it was fine, and pushed Antonia to feel comfortable. She wanted Antonia's scent on every pillow, her lingerie hanging from the towel knob, her lipstick staining the coffee cup. Anything and everything she could do to mask the scent of Maureen that still seemed to linger in her rooms.

Today, she rattled her keys in their keyhole, pushing open her heavy door to be assaulted with the pungent smell of Chinese food, the sound of music floating out of her living room.

Heart in her throat, Joanne stood still, fingers gripped around the door knob, unsure if she had caught herself in some sort of déjà vu, or if her dreams had become reality, both to tease and haunt her.

But it wasn't Maureen that rounded the corner, smiled at her in a business suit and bare feet. The tightness in Joanne's chest twisted somehow, a painful mixture of disappointment and relief, when Antonia greeted her with a kiss, chaste and welcoming.

"Hi," she breathed, a different woman than the one she encountered on the stairs outside of Hector's life group. "I brought Chinese. I hope that's okay."

Reaching up to massage the stiffness out of her neck, Joanne offered a weak smile. "As long as we're eating at the table."

Pausing in the midst of placing two pairs of chopsticks on her small dining room table, Antonia looked befuddled. "Where else would we eat?"

Sliding fists into her pockets, Joanne stared at her lover, the beautiful face, the confused, crooked look, and the immaculate place setting at the table, with real plates and champagne glasses.

"Nowhere," she answered, and came forward, pulling the chilled wine from the iced container that held it, pulling at the cork.

--

"You don't have much of an appetite."

Antonia was an observer. She was attentive to details, and she was sharp. Glancing up, Joanne's attention moved from her lover to the food she was pushing haphazardly around the plate.

"I had a late lunch." Placing down her chopsticks, Joanne knit her fingers together, elbows on the table, forcing a tired smile.

A smirk worked it's way onto Antonia's face. "Did my brother drag you to lunch again?" Joanne quirked an eyebrow in response. "It was that Vegetarian Tree-Hugging Life Café place, wasn't it? In East Village? I have no idea why he likes that place so much." 

"The food's decent."

Antonia made a face. "Right. I went there once? They had pasta with meatless balls. I just…" Her girlfriend seemed to gag at the thought. "Just… no. No."

Joanne had to admit, the idea of that special was just wrong. "It's supposed to taste the same." Antonia shot her a look, and she grinned at the snort Antonia threw at her. Smile fading, she took in a deep breath, fingers moving together restlessly. "He actually wanted to talk about the case." 

Antonia glanced up, a surprised expression taking over her face. "Oh My God, don't tell me he's finally taking an interest! It's about time! A week before we go into court! What did you tell him?"

"Well…" Hesitating, Joanne smiled awkwardly. "I didn't really –"

"Do you have any idea how amazing you are?" Blinking, Joanne's mouth opened slightly, unsure where Antonia was going, until she noticed the beam on her face. "I mean, not just in the courtroom, but you… you got my brother to trust you. He doesn't trust anyone! He thinks the Internet is the coming of '1984'!"

Joanne had a sudden headache. "Toni, I really need to tell you –"

"I know. We'll talk about whatever he said." Hazel eyes darkening with her pleasure, Antonia pushed away from the table, rounding it. "During work hours."

Turning in her seat, Joanne's throat closed up, tightened with her own guilt and awkwardness as Antonia, gaze smoldering with determination, settled into her lap, palm smoothing against her cheek.

"I just… I think you're amazing." Whispered words, and with them warm lips descended upon her, massaging at her mouth, urging it open. A firm tongue dipped inside of her, and Joanne closed her eyes at the shiver of lust, palms smoothing around Antonia's waist.

The image, the feel, of another woman burst into her brain, and she broke the kiss with a ragged inhalation.

"What?" Moist breath drifted across her lips, and Joanne swallowed, eyes opening to concerned hazel eyes.

"Nothing," she whispered, and lifted her head, determined to bring their lips together once more. 

One kiss, and Antonia pulled away, extracting herself from her arms. "Shower," she explained, winking. "How do you feel about cleaning up?"

"You didn't necessarily cook," Joanne reminded her.

"I bought. Same difference. It's as close as you're going to get." 

Staying put, she watching as her girlfriend disappeared into the hallway leading toward the bathroom. Alone, she pushed out another deep breath, eyes closing, frustrated at her own weakness. 

"Goddammit," she breathed, suddenly lost. "What the hell are you doing, Joanne?"

She had no idea, and so she pushed herself up and began to clear the dishes.

The ringing doorbell distracted her from her task, and at first, Joanne was confused, unsure who it could be. Pulling at the knot of her tie, struggling to loosen it, she headed toward the door, and closed her hand around the knob, flicking her wrist and opening the door to Maureen Johnson.

Her former lover took her breath away, knocked her into stupidity, as Joanne stared at the sight presented before her: Maureen, palms in her back pockets, shoulder against her doorway, staring at her with nothing but pure hunger on her face. 

It weakened her, and Joanne held tightly to the door knob, for support if nothing else.

"What are you doing here?" 

Maureen's tongue flicked out, moistening her bottom lip, and she shook her head. "I forgot my bra," came the dry response. "What do you think I'm doing here, Joanne?"

The lump in her throat doubled in size, and now Joanne was in literal pain, as she stared at her former lover, desire so naked and open on her face, mixed with something else, deeper and just as appealing. 

It battled with her horror, unable to forget the idea of Antonia in her bathroom, in her bedroom.

"You can't be here, Maureen," she snapped, losing control in her speech. "I told you it wasn't going to be like this-"

"Like what?" Maureen asked, smirk fading, eyes narrowing. "Like what happened in the bathroom?" Mouth snapping shut, Joanne glanced away, flushed and sweaty. "That wasn't me that started it, baby. That was all you."

"I didn't ask you to follow me in."

It wasn't the best thing to say, and even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. That action had been well intentioned, however badly it had turned out.

Maureen pushed off the door frame, crossing her arms and staring resolutely in her face. "Are you going to let me in?"

Closing her eyes, Joanne's grip tightened on the door knob, wondering at the quandary that was presented to her now. She felt the brush of fabric against her arm, and when her head lifted, her eyes opened, she discovered Maureen, boots sinking into her carpet. In her living room, her former lover wore a curious expression, eyes moving over the place as if she were marking it, checking to see if everything was still in it's place.

"What's going on?" 

Turning, Joanne shivered and rubbed furiously at her neck. "Maureen, you need to go."

"Something is obviously wrong, Joanne, are you going to tell me what it is?" Joanne's mouth was a thin line. "You know, I don't usually make a habit of caring."

"That's not really a surprise, considering you do a piss poor job of it."

Maureen's eyes narrowed, muscles in her jaw flexing in response. "Fuck you, okay? If I had known fucking you would have turned you into a Type A bitch, I wouldn't have bothered."

"Then why are you still here?" Joanne asked, body tight, head buzzing. "Why are you here, Maureen?"

"Because you stuck your tongue down my throat and I wanted to finish what you started."

She hissed, jerking her head as if the words had dug a knife into her chest. "God… DAMMIT. Why the fuck can't I- Why the hell can't I finish with you?"

Cat eyes observed her, arms crossed, brown eyes hooded and unreadable. "Tell me to leave right now, and I will. Just tell me what the hell YOU want."

"I don't…" Frustrated, Joanne's words died in her throat, suddenly lost, unable to do anything but stare at the floor. Frozen, she shivered at the feel of fingers, half covered in motorcycle gloves, suddenly cupping her face. "Maureen," she whispered, and it was an aching plea – but what she was asking, she had no idea.

"Tell me what you want," came the whisper, a haunting statement that floated into her brain, dug itself into her sensibilities.

Joanne's eyelids fluttered, and her heart pulsed with the proximity of Maureen, the soft voice seeping into her like a devil perched on her shoulder. She stood, helplessly, until the soft sound of wood creaking flooded her like a bucket of ice water.

Antonia stood in the living room, wrapped in her towel, hazel eyes bright, mouth turned down.

"Hi," her lover said with cold eyes, breaking into the silence, as Maureen's hands came down, and Antonia stepped forward, always regal, even when naked. "And you are?"

Swallowing, Joanne stared from Antonia to Maureen. The other woman's expression was different than before, tight at first, taking in Antonia. A hawk-eyed glance at her, and suddenly the features relaxed into a smug smirk. 

"Maureen."

Joanne's eyes flickered closed, a reaction to the only deafening conclusion that could be made. Antonia was quiet, and when her eyes opened to inspect her lover, the brunette maintained her composure.

"Then we've already met. I'm Antonia."

The tension in the air was palpable, as Maureen's mouth opened, closed, an odd laugh falling from her mouth.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Maureen." Stiff features focused on Joanne. "I know your cousin was very worried about you."

"Well, it was nothing a little TLC couldn't fix. She's great at that."

"Maureen," Joanne croaked, low and pleading.

Her former lover's attention moved from Antonia to herself, as Joanne stared at her with watered, tired eyes. A moment of furious study, and then Maureen shook her head lightly, turning away.

"If you don't mind. I'm just here to get my bra. Joanne?"

Joanne swallowed hard, trapped in her own nightmare. "Third drawer," she whispered thickly.

Maureen held her eyes a beat longer than necessary, and then slid away. "I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

Antonia's smile was fake, and Joanne didn't move, heart in a curious, painful place, as Maureen brushed past her and moved past Antonia, boots clomping on the wooden floor, disappearing into the bedroom like she owned it.

Joanne didn't speak in the silence. Antonia's arms remained crossed, and Maureen came back, waving the black garment like a prize. "Found it! Thanks!" Moving forward, she smiled widely, too widely. Heading for the door, her shoulder bumped Joanne's violently, eyes meeting hers in the process.

At the door, Maureen paused, turned back, digging into her pocket. "You know, I've got a performance coming up," she began, unfolding a flier, holding it up for their inspection. "If you two feel like coming." She held it out, but no one took it. Smile almost a grimace, Maureen let it drop to the floor, and closed the door behind her, leaving Joanne to her mess.

In the thickness of her own anxiety, Joanne had nothing she could say.

Antonia, arms crossed, muscle twitching at her jaw, came forward, hazel eyes liquid ice. "That was Maureen."

"Look-"

"Are you done with her?"

The interruption was unexpected, and Joanne blinked back her tears, surprised at the question. "What?" 

Antonia's smile was a bitter tainted expression. "Do you think I'm stupid, Joanne? I knew she wasn't your cousin the minute she answered your phone." Joanne sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and unsure.

"What? Why-"

"Because I'm all for people getting their cheap thrills whenever they can find them," Antonia said tensely. "Hell, my brother did it for years until his damned disease kicked the habit for him. But I refuse to be an unknowing fool. You did your slumming, fine. But I'm no one's second choice. Have you had your kicks? Are they out of your system?"

A rush of sudden emotion had her shaking her head, shivering in anger. "That's not what it was-"

"I don't CARE," Antonia snapped. "I don't. I could give a shit about Maureen. All I care about, is knowing whether or not it's over. Because if it's not, I'm walking out that door."

Worlds collided, Joanne was weakened. Her head was ringing, her eyes were stinging, and too lost to make things any harder for herself, she straightened her shoulders and stared at her current lover, her future.

"Yes," she said evenly, as calmly as she could. "It's over."

Antonia stared, testing her sincerity with a scrutinizing glare. Chin lifting, she finally nodded. "Good." Palm moving up, she sighed raggedly. "I'm going to get dressed and I'm going home. Something tells me we both need the night apart." Turning her heel, her lover turned back from where she came, back into her bedroom, back into her life. 

Alone, Joanne found herself trembling, heart beating erratically. A splotch of white against her wooden floor caught her attention, and moving forward, Joanne bent down to pick up the piece of paper, focusing on a crudely made flier advertising a performance piece by Maureen Johnson.

"Fuck," she whispered, and crumpled it into her hands, ready to toss it away.

Joanne heard the crackle, felt the wrinkled, hard ball of paper inside her palmed fists.

She lobbed it to the trashcan, and missed. 

Staring, Joanne turned away, leaving it where it lay, a blotch against her pristine floor.

--

_End chapter_


	17. Chapter 17

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores  
**Email: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for sexual situations between two women.  
**Chapter 17. **

_I know I would apologize  
If I could see your eyes  
Cause when you showed me yourself  
You know  
I became somewhere else_

But I was caught in between  
All you wish for and all you need  
I picture you fast asleep  
The night mare comes  
You can't keep away   
-- 'In the Sun' Joseph Arthur  
--

Suffocating in the silence of her own apartment, Joanne was in no mood to be alone.

To be alone would mean giving in to the chaos in her brain, and she couldn't handle it – the cacophony of thoughts threatened to split her head open as it was.

Antonia had been instrumental in keeping her sanity. As long as she had the other woman, willing and ready in her bed, she had her focus, an ability to concentrate on the beauty before her, explore every crevice, seek out every source of pleasure.

Consequently, Antonia called her the best lover she ever had.

But her lover had left for the evening, and after turning up the radio so loud that it rattled her skull and brought the doorman knocking telling her of complaints from her neighbors, she grabbed her trench coat and headed out into the night.

Not in the mood to be anywhere, Joanne didn't know where she was going, until pure habit forced her into a cab, and up the steps of an upscale high rise.

The doorman, Jimmy, she remembered, offered her a smile and a bow, and let her into the hallway, pressing the fourteenth floor.

It was how she found herself staring through the open doorway at Cindy. Her friend, upper lip white with bleach, green scrub painted on her face, toothbrush hanging out of the corner of her mouth, looked like some sort of clown.

"MoAnne?" Cindy mumbled around her toothbrush, face constricted by the green mask she wore. "What're you doin' 'ere?"

She smiled weakly. "I have no idea."

--

Sitting on Cindy's couch was familiar. She had been here before, and she sunk in the leather, down, eyes closed, fingers buried in her hair.

The soft sound of jazz floated in around her, and she smiled morosely. Cindy remembered which of her cd's she liked. Some cold and smooth pressed against her fingertips, and lifting her head, Joanne closed her hand gratefully around the condensing beer bottle.

Weight settling in beside her shifted the cushions, as Cindy, the ends of her hair wet with water, rubbed vigorously at her face with a towel, perhaps in an effort to let what she had just spilled sink in completely.

"Wow," Joanne heard, and she grimaced, lips against her beer bottle, tilting it back so that the bitter liquid spilled onto her tongue. "I mean… wow."

"Glad you're amused," she muttered.

Cindy was sitting with her back completely straight, towel in her lap, face flushed and bright. "Okay," she began, after a moment. "Let me recap: just to get this all straight."

"Be my guest," Joanne answered, slumping into the leather couch, tipping the bottle once more against her mouth.

"So… your girlfriend's brother – who has AIDS and is dying – wants you to convince your girlfriend to drop the biggest case of your career because he's too scared to do it himself. Meanwhile, you go to court next week, and your boss is so amped up on this case that dropping it might actually RUIN your career, and your girlfriend, who is also your client, is so attached she might flip out. And NOW, you've gone and fucked it up even more by accidentally making out with your girl Maureen in a public bathroom, who showed up at your doorstep while Antonia was naked. And now she's pissed at you over that, and you haven't even brought up the dying brother lawsuit thing."

She shut her eyes, a bitter grin pulling at her lips. Cindy did have a knack for summing things up. "That about covers it."

"Wow." Cindy exhaled loudly, shaking her head in wonder. "Joanne, you are so fucked. I mean, really, and truly fucked."

"I know."

"And not in a good way."

"I know."

Her friend curled her leg from under her, shoulders coming down in a slouch. "Geez." Snatching Joanne's beer from her fingers, she took a long gulp. "Sorry," she said, when Joanne glared. "You got the last cold one. We're sharing."

Joanne head fell back against the cushion, fingers massaging at her temples. "You know, a month ago? I was fine. My life was relatively well and balanced. I was sane. What the hell happened to me?"

"Well… Maureen, for one thing."

"Maureeeeen," she responded, feeling the word out, the image of the woman behind the name conjured up, however unwillingly, lounging against her doorway. "Maureen Johnson. She's crazy. She's nuts."

"Uhuh," Cindy answered, peering into her bottle, as if checking to see if there was anything left. "And you're nuts about her." 

Joanne was too tired to protest the sentiment. "I don't know why. She's crazy. She's a narcissist and she's mean. And she leaves her bras behind and comes and gets them when there's naked women in my livingroom."

"As in more than one?" 

"Just the one was enough." Wincing, Joanne let out a sudden growl, hands balling into fists. "And Antonia was perfect, you know? She was the perfect package. Beautiful and smart and high class and funny and it could have worked with her. I know it could have."

"Really?"

"Well, why wouldn't it?"

"Because she's just like every other woman you've ever dated and in three months you would have been bored stiff," Cindy stated dryly, giving up on the bottle and tossing it beside her on a nearby cushion. "And did I not mention it was a bad idea to get involved with a client?"

"No, you didn't," Joanne said, somewhat snappishly.

"Well, I thought it."

Joanne inhaled through her nostrils, a loud rush of air. "Fuck it," she said, palm up. "It doesn't matter. Because I'm done. I'm done with women. Unless Antonia doesn't dump me on my ass tomorrow when I tell her about Hector and dropping the lawsuit. Then I'll keep her. And I'll find Maureen, and I'll kick her ass."

"Before or after you lose control and pull her pants off?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, calling it as I see it." Cindy's response was dry. "Because as far as I can tell? Self control around that woman is not your strong suit. It's more than just good sex for you, honey." 

"Does it matter?" Joanne blinked, headache pounding at her, like an angry gong. "Does it? She's still with her precious 'Marky'. She's not leaving him. I am what I am to her – good sex, and that's all. Fuck Maureen." Her eyes widened and she swiveled her head to her friend. "And don't say I already did and that's what got me into this mess."

Cindy waved her hands in front of her face, the picture of innocence. "What? I didn't say anything."

"And who the hell is Hector to do this to me? To ask me to singularly fuck up every part of my life just because he can't face his damned sister himself? God, you know what I should do? Not tell her. Tell him to tell her himself and leave me the hell out of it. To grow the hell up before he dies." 

The tears took her by surprise, wetness against her cheeks so shocking she paused, reaching up and wiping at the moisture with her fingers. Voice caught in her throat, Joanne closed her eyes and shuddered, suddenly angered when more tears drifted down her cheeks. 

"God… dammit…" she breathed.

She was left alone for a moment in her silence, until familiar arms curled around her shoulders, reeling her in. By instinct alone, Joanne turned, blindly settling into the embrace, wet tears staining the milky white throat.

Cindy was gentle, rocking her like she would a child, knuckles against her cheek. "Hey… Hey." Her voice was careful, kind. "You'll be fine. You'll do the right thing, because that's what you do. Even if it ends up ruining your career," she added, and Joanne laughed desperately. "Because that's who you are. And you'll get through it. Because you're amazing and stubborn and that's why I love you." Lips brushed her forehead. "And as for the rest of it… you do what makes you happy. The rest will fall into place."

Joanne's eyes closed, and she breathed in raggedly, absurdly fragile, fingers gripping tightly to the sleeves of Cindy's flannel pajama top. 

"You're crazy," she muttered between sniffles, and Cindy laughed, pulling her in tighter. "Thank you," she added.

"Bye me more beer," Cindy said, rubbing circles into her lower back. "And we'll call it even." 

--

_Joanne had always made a point of including Maureen in every aspect of her life, as long as Maureen was willing. That meant the country club, office parties, drinks with clients. Maureen was always entertaining and sometimes a liability, but she was enthusiastic and unforgettable, and while sometimes Joanne would regret bringing her along, particularly when Maureen found herself connecting a little TOO well with another female, she had always promised to never make Maureen feel less than her partner._

Hector's funeral, however, was simply an event Joanne would go to alone, and while Maureen must have understood her reasons, it wasn't something she took lightly.

Jealousy wasn't usually a trait Maureen came to have – in fact, Joanne suspected that if Maureen ever even thought Joanne would be up for a threesome, there'd be another woman in their bed immediately – but the name Suddleson was always avoided between them, and for good reason.

"You're not going," she said, and it wasn't a request. "You're not going because it has nothing to do with you, and nothing to do with her. I'm paying my respects to a friend. I have no interest in revisiting what happened and for your own sake, you shouldn't either."

It wasn't a threat. It was fact, and Maureen's mouth shut, jaw squared with uncomfortable anger.

"I know," Maureen said, and for once Joanne thought she saw shame, trickling up her cheeks in a soft blush. "But she'd take you back in a minute." Breaking her gaze, Maureen stared at the floor, looking suddenly like a lost, scared child.

"And what?" Joanne asked, shaking her head, suddenly gentle. Coming forward, the cupped the strong chin, looked into dark green eyes. 

"You forgave me."

"So I'll forgive her?" Joanne sighed, palm spreading against the chin until she could slide her thumb across the pronounced cheekbone. "I already have, honey. As messed up as all that was. But I'm not in love with her. I never was. Being with her was about not being with you."

Maureen blinked, as the statement sank in the air, and Joanne sucked in her breath, shaking her head in bitter wonder. 

"God," she whispered, and the faintest smile floated on her lover's lips. "Don't," she warned. "Just don't."

Maureen's expression was almost relieved, and Joanne sighed raggedly, when her girlfriend slid her arms around her neck, and lay her cheek against her shoulder.

"We are a pair," Maureen sniffled. "The pot and the kettle." Shaking her head, Joanne's mouth pressed together, and wondered what to do with her impromptu, instinct driven baby. "Joanne?" 

"Yeah, baby."

"I love you." The words were said fiercely, fighting, determined words.

Despite the drama, Joanne knew it was true. "You're still not coming." 

A beat, and then Maureen held her tighter. "I know. It's okay."

It was. 

--

"You haven't told her."

Head lifting, Joanne took in the sight of her girlfriend's twin brother, leaning into her office, one hand on her doorframe.

"Hi," she answered, settling back into her seat, clicking her automatic pen erratically with her thumb. "No, I haven't." Hector looked visibly disappointed, arms falling to his side. "We had a fight," she explained, somber and professional. "Needless to say, it wasn't a great time to bring it up."

Hector shook his head, obviously frustrated, as he fell into her seat, fingertips tapping against his thigh erratically. "The trial's getting closer."

"And you don't think I know that?" The words were snap, and immediately, Joanne clamped her mouth shut, regretting her tone. Breathing out raggedly, she pulled at her tie, a nervous tick, and looked at her friend. "I understand you're nervous, Hector, but you have to understand, that if I don't do this right, I could lose your sister, and my job."

The ramifications weren't pleasant, and it was comforting that at least Hector seemed to understand, eyes closing at the utter impossibility of the situation. 

"I don't want that," he said thickly. "I don't. I don't want to fuck you over anymore than I have to-" 

"I know," she responded quietly, sitting still. "And I'll do my best to make it happen. One way or another, I won't be taking you to court."

Hector was still, quiet, rubbing at the stubble on his chin, eyes bloodshot and tired. Cracking a tired, weak smile, he shifted in his seat. "So wha'd you guys fight about?"

Joanne couldn't help the bittersweet laugh, as she shook her head and cocked her head. "You think I'm going to tell you?"

"We're friends," he insisted. "Come on. I live for my sister's misery." 

"Well, I don't," she said, smile twitching at her lips.

"You should. She's a snake. A viper." He sucked air between his teeth, and she laughed, tossing her pen into his lap. "Heeey…" Squirming, he grabbed it, and clicked the top, smile fading as he inspected it. "Thanks, Joanne. I've been a coward my whole life. That's what my dad and my sister's say. Maybe it's true. I don't want to die a hero. I just want to live, you know? Like a man. Until I'm done living." Eyes on the floor, he seemed lost, in another world.

Quietly, Joanne took him in. "You know you're not dead yet."

He glanced up, studied her. "Know what the upside is about dying, Joanne? You stop being afraid. You stop giving a shit about what other people think and you start living, you know?" Joanne's eyes dropped down, breaking the gaze, breathing in a bit unsteadily. "You know what? Bring her in tomorrow. Sit her down here. Me, you and her. I'll tell her. I'll tell her myself." He nodded, resolutely, a soldier in his own war.

--

Antonia was acting oddly. She wasn't calm. She wasn't collected, but twitchy, distracted. This wasn't her lover, and Joanne, already nervous given the shaky state of their relationship, didn't want to venture a guess as to what was wrong.

Her girlfriend had chosen Indian food, and she focused on her food with startling concentration, breaking off pieces of naan and swirling the flat bread in her crushed peas.

"You're still upset," Joanne said finally, dropping her fork.

Oddly enough, Antonia seemed startled. Hazel eyes jerked up to meet her own intensely, and she sighed raggedly. "No," she answered, somehow heavy, somehow tired. "I'm… I am upset, but…" 

"Look, I should have been honest." Antonia shuddered and glanced away. "The thing with Maureen and me, it was-"

"Joanne…"

"It was complex. And… convoluted and a little messy. Obviously, I should have come clean with you. I didn't expect her to show up like she did-"

"But she did and it was for a reason, right?" 

The uneven, upset tone had Joanne sucking in her breath, a tense reaction. "Yes, it was for a reason."

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

The tightness in her chest was suffocating, and Joanne sat, frozen, as she stared into the eyes of her lover, discovering the other woman completely still, waiting for her answer.

She hesitated, but Joanne couldn't be a hypocrite, and so she exhaled and glanced away. Her answer was evident enough.

"It doesn't change how I feel about you, Antonia."

"I slept with her."

At first, the statement didn't seem to make sense. Joanne's head rose, took in the woman across the table, the flat, haunted stare.

Her heartbeat erupted suddenly, blood rushing to her head, and Joanne shook her head, unsure what that meant, suddenly dizzy.

"What?" she whispered.

Antonia swallowed, eyes moist and voice even, almost defiant. "I slept with Maureen. Last night. After I left your apartment."

--  
_End chapter_


	18. Chapter 18

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 18.**

_If love was a war  
It's you who has won  
While I was confessing it  
You held your tongue  
Now the damage is done_

Well, there's blood in these veins  
And I cry when in pain  
I'm only human on the inside  
-- 'Human' The Pretenders

--

Perhaps Antonia hadn't quite expected the bombshell she had just delivered to be met with such silence, but Joanne had no other recourse. Gone completely numb, she only stared dumbly, processing the words, repeated over and over in her head until they became a ringing gong, and understanding them was all she could do.

Dizzy, dazed, and suddenly too warm, Joanne's mouth suddenly shut when the spike of pain came, deep and searing. It slid into her chest and choked her, and she literally gasped, palm suddenly at her heart, body shuddering as if she was trying to shake off her devastation.

There was an image in her head, and it was impossible to clear it, stroked into a roaring visual when Antonia's fingers settled on hers. She snapped her hand back, and her gaze fell on the frightened, defiant woman on the other side of the table.

And still, she said nothing. 

Antonia's lips pressed together, trembled, and hazel eyes glanced up and down, far and wide, and then back to Joanne. "I didn't mean for it to happen," she said suddenly, and then shoulders slumped, and she shook her head blindly. "No. No I did."

Joanne's heart was hammering, and she struggled to control her breathing, inhaling sharply through her nostrils, fighting the urge to give up and walk out. "Why?" she asked, a choked whisper.

Antonia's posture was stiff, her hands folded together. Her jaw was clenched, and still, she seemed to remind Joanne of a petulant child, eyes moist with unshed emotion. "Well you seemed to be so stuck on her, maybe I wanted to see what the appeal was."

Disgust and anger rolled up her spine, and with it, came her strength. Standing, she gathered her purse and her jacket.

A slender wrist, capturing hers in a hard grip, stopped her assent. "No, Joanne, please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't walk out on me. Just let me explain." 

"Explain what!" She was loud, and the volume of her voice startled even her, as Antonia glanced away, and Joanne stiffened, suddenly aware of the stares, the clink of china, the arena into which she had been entered. "Is that why you brought me here? So I wouldn't make a scene?"

"Joanne-" 

"No. I'm done." Shaking off her hand, Joanne's eyes stung with furious anger, shrugging into her coat.

"Fine." Antonia's flash of weakness was gone, eyes sparkling with moisture. "Fine. Go, but before you do, answer me one thing: are you more upset about me or her?"

In an instant, her throat went dry, and Joanne was frozen.

"Hate me if you want, Joanne, I want you to. I want you to understand what it felt like to be used. I was falling in love with you, but all you cared about what getting over your precious Maureen." Signaling for the check, Antonia's shoulders straightened, hand in her purse, digging for and pulling out a compact. "For the record, she seduced me. I made the choice, but she started it."

Cold eyes met hers, and then Antonia looked away.

--

_Seldom could Joanne ever really find issue with Mark Cohen. Despite being Maureen's ex, he had become a good friend, a favored lunch partner, and on occasion, a confidante. It was almost ironic, Mark's placement in her life. She genuinely liked him, and the thought was disturbing. Maureen had taken issue with the tight friendship at first, citing that it was weird and wrong for the two of them to mesh so well. Collins snorted and said it said something about Maureen's 'type', and Roger miffed that Joanne was Mark with a spine. Mimi said almost nothing about it at all, she just said she was glad that there was very little residual weirdness, and it was to both of their credit that it worked so well._

Whatever the reason, Joanne and the shy Jewish boy had tailored together a friendship that was built around more than Maureen. Still, he could share her commiseration about Maureen's antics, and often would, with an amused, pressed together smile and a geeky role of his eyes.

"That's Maureen for you," he would say, and that would be that.

The evening after she had come home to Maureen puking up her dinner in their toilet, however, it was simply not enough.

"You knew," she seethed, eyes wild and fists clenched, stalking the wooden loft floor with sharp clacks of her heels. "You knew that she had a problem and you didn't tell me?"

"She was getting over it!" he said, pushing his glasses up his nose with a pointed finger, camera for once, turned off and sitting in his restless hands. "She promised me there wouldn't be anymore of it-"

"And you just took her at face value. Just like that." Hands on her hips, Joanne could only stare disbelievingly.

"Look, it wasn't as if I had a lot of time, Joanne!" he snapped, face red and mottled with frustration. "Okay? April had just killed herself and Roger was going off the bender, and there was only one of me."

"And what? Your girlfriend didn't merit a peek in? Bulimia is a disease, Mark. Just like drug addiction."

"You don't think I know that?"

"So what?" she shouted, suddenly incensed and unsure why. "As long as Roger was okay to hell with Maureen?"

"It wasn't like that!" In his emotion, Mark nearly dropped his camera, struggling to his feet. "Maureen told me she was fine. She was eating and Roger pretty much had command of the toilet. I couldn't watch them both. I had to take her at her word."

Overcome, Joanne closed her eyes and sucked in a long drawn breath. Fingers to her temples, she contemplated the situation Maureen had been in, those long months ago.

"God… dammit, Mark," she breathed, and kept her eyes shut, lost in the silence. "I don't know how to help her." It was a shameful admission, and Joanne felt suddenly extremely young. "She said it was only this one time. That sometimes she falls back, when she's unsure and scared and we had this fight-"

"Hey…" A hand pressed on her shoulder, gentle and unsure. "Hey, she at least admitted it to you, okay? It took me months to get it out of her. Months. And you know Maureen. She works so hard to put up that camera façade sometimes you can't see behind it."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's why you two aren't together anymore," Joanne said, a grumble barely audible, before she winced and glanced up, tired and sad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't. You did what you could." Mark's mouth quirked again, a sympathetic bittersweet expression. "When I first met her, it was a whirlwind. I didn't know which end was up. I only saw what I wanted to see, and now…"

"Now she's human?"

"Now I'm human," she corrected, shoulders slumping. "I'm only human. But I love her, Mark."

He stared at her, taking her in behind his glasses, seeing her as only he could. "And that's why you have her. And why you'll both pull through this. Because she loves you too." 

--

In the street, it had begun to rain.

Joanne couldn't seem to bring herself to care, as she stood on the curb, staring up into the black sky, feeling the polluted water splash against her cheeks. Arm raised, she tried to hail a cab, smiling bitterly when one pulled up immediately, presumably to take advantage of the easy business of the restaurant clientele.

There was a payphone just a few feet away, and when Joanne caught sight of it, she began to move, jerking open the little booth and fumbling for some coins.

Joanne's memory wasn't exactly photographic, but it was good enough. Cold fingers fumbled against metallic buttons, until there was a tinny ringing. She waited, and then heard the now familiar, "SPEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK."

"Dammit." Slamming down the phone, she jerked outside of the both, feeling large drops of rain splotch against her skin.

With nowhere else to go, she suddenly made determined strides, turning on her heels and stepping into the cab already waiting for her.

She told him to drive her to Alphabet City.

--

The driver must have thought she was insane, with her wild eyes and sopping wet clothes, driving straight into a slum. But he took her money and bade her good luck, streaking off the curb to safer waters.

The Life Café was crowded, nothing new, and she had to push her way inside, pushing wet curls off her forehead, searching for the brunette who could stand out in any crowd.

Maureen was nowhere to be seen. Sucking in an uneven breath, Joanne determinedly moved toward a familiar large man in a leather jacket, catching his attention with a snap of her fingers, leaning in and asking for her. 

"Maureen?" he repeated, arching his back and scanning the crowd. "Where the hell's Maureen?"

"Just went to the bathroom," replied another, in a tattered sweat shirt, black bangs flopping into his forehead.

She nearly rolled her eyes. It was strangely fitting. Straightening, Joanne nodded. "Thank you."

Maneuvering through the crowd, she saw the line of women slumped against the wall, waiting for the bathroom to open. Joanne grimaced and moved past them all.

"Um… excuse me? Preppie?" said one, interrupting when Joanne grabbed hold of the doorknob. "That's occupied and there is a line." 

Joanne jerked her head and smiled acidly. "Don't worry. This won't take long."

Jerking the doorknob, she pushed in hard with her shoulder, ignoring the protests and stepping into the musty bathroom.

What she found took her incensed anger and unsettled it completely. Slamming the door shut behind her, Joanne locked eyes with a kneeling Maureen, teetering up from the toilet, face unusually pale.

Stunned into silence, Joanne only stared, as Maureen took her in, releasing her long brown curls, heading toward the toilet. "What are you doing here?" came the raspy voice.

"Are you sick?" Joanne asked, a question she couldn't stop from coming, eyes narrowing as Maureen laughed bitterly, turning on the faucet and gathering a puddle in her joined hands.

"Bad sushi," she said, in a tone that Joanne couldn't distinguish from sarcasm or honesty. "Why are you here, Joanne?" she asked, splashing water into her face, flushing her mouth with the liquid. "Get tired of your prima donna already?"

The anger came back, just as fast, just as painful. Sucking in her breath, she steeled herself against it, sopping wet and feeling like a fool. "Why did you do it? Why, out of everyone, did you choose me to fuck with, Maureen?" 

Maureen paused, staring into her joined hands, not even giving her the satisfaction of staring at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you don't?" Swallowing, Joanne tried to contain herself, and found herself unable, staring at her former lover, overwhelmed with the images of Maureen's naked body entwined with Antonia's. "She told me you seduced her. She told me you started it. Why would you do something like that? What kind of person does that to someone else?" 

"And what makes you think that was about you?" Maureen asked, head rising, hair flipping back, pinning her with startling clear green eyes.

"Oh, it wasn't?" Joanne asked, hands falling down. The door banged behind her, and she ignored the angry yell from the other side. "It wasn't about me."

"Why would it be about you? Maybe I just wanted a good fuck. Maybe she was available and willing." 

Joanne stared, into a face she couldn't understand, into eyes she had once nearly drowned in, an expression that threatened to knock her into her own abyss of heartbreak. The door kept banging, and Joanne just gave up.

Mouth clamping shut, she suddenly ached, and could take no more. "You can't do this to me," she whispered. "You can't do this to people. You can't treat people this way, Maureen. I'm done." Maureen's mouth trembled, but her expression didn't change. "You asked me last night what I wanted? I want you out of my life. That's what I want." 

Ignoring the moist orbs that haunted her, she stepped back, away, and then turned her head, breaking the intense stare.

Fingers closing around the doorknob, she twisted, nearly crashing into the women banging on the door.

"Excuse me," she said, and there must have been enough force in that to warrant apprehension, because they let her pass.

She was trembling, over heated, and whether she was brushing tears or raindrops from her face, she had no idea. Stepping into the cacophony of the crowd in the restaurant, she was simply intent on getting to the door.

"I would have left him for you."

Steps faltering, Joanne paused, the words at once meaningless and overwhelming. Head turning, she discovered Maureen only a few feet behind her, wearing an expression that couldn't be described. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and they locked on hers like magnets, fists clenched, ignoring the crowd around them.

"Excuse me?" 

"Mark. I would have left him for you," Maureen said again, coming forward, pushing aside a young Bohemian unlucky enough to be in her way. "But it wasn't what you wanted. You wanted a fast fuck and run, so that's what I gave you." Joanne blinked, completely lost, mouth dropping open.

The floor had gone quiet, and still, Joanne couldn't bring herself to care. "You said you weren't going to leave him," she hissed, coming forward, a sopping wet mess. "You said you weren't going to leave him. You told me that the first night."

"And it's not like you cared!" Maureen snapped, voice husky with unshed emotion, real tears now bright in her eyes. "I was a good enough for a good fuck and that was it, right? Not good enough to show up in your office. Not good enough for a fucking girlfriend or to meet your friends or your parents. I'm good enough to eat you out, but you need a real charmer like Antonia for the whole package, right?"

Maureen's voice cracked, and her green eyes shone so brilliantly, and whatever emotion Joanne was using for purchase, her leg to stand, was taken out from under her as she realized Maureen was actually _crying_.

"I thought you were different," Maureen whispered, as Joanne blinked and suddenly remembered their audience, and still, couldn't find her own modesty. "But you're just like everyone else. You make it look prettier. You smile and you listen and you pass time until the next girl. I hope it hurt you. I hope it felt like a punch in your stomach, what we did to you. It doesn't matter what I did." 

"It doesn't matter?" Joanne repeated. "How does it not matter?"

"You made me love you," Maureen snapped, cutting through the air, and slicing deep into her heart. "And all I did was make you come."

In that lingering silence, Joanne was frozen, startled at her own reflection, as Maureen shoved past her and left her in the midst of her own Bohemians.

And still, Joanne couldn't let her go. 

"Maureen!"

Unglued, she moved fast in the direction of her lover, chasing after her as fast as she could. 

Outside, there was only darkness and rain, crashing down on her, soaking her to her core.

-- _end chapter_


	19. Chapter 19

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 19.**

_I never thought  
That anyone  
Was more important than the plans  
I made  
But now I feel the shame  
There's no one else to blame  
For all the broken hearts scattered on the field of war_  
-- 'Pardon Me' Weezer

--

_Sometimes Joanne thought that no one, not even Mark, knew Maureen like she did. Others she wondered if she really knew her lover at all. Maureen was always an enigma and somehow still predictable. She was human, and flawed, and prone to acting out when she didn't get her way._

There were times when Joanne did nothing but focus on her flaws, and then, it was ridiculously easy to believe that all their problems had nothing to do with her raging jealousy and complete inability to give up any sort of control. Not knowing what to do led to Joanne trying that much harder to contain a situation, and many times, Maureen left her not knowing what to do.

It was a fine situation, this series of checks and balances, learning to accept Maureen for who she was, remind herself that it was because of Maureen's unique approach to situations that she fell in love in the first place.

Thinking back to the night they had found Mimi in the park, Joanne often found it supremely ironic that it was her and Maureen, herself sometimes an outsider, Maureen considered fickle and shallow by their Bohemian family, who had stayed out in the cold, shivering and freezing, picking their way through homeless lumps on park benches, searching for a wisp of a girl.

"Leave it to men," Maureen drawled, huddled in her leather jacket, arms wrapped around herself, teeth chattering. "They've got no follow through." 

Despite the dire situations, Joanne couldn't help her small smile, shaking her head as she said her goodbye to Benny, their unseen third partner.

"Benny says he loves you too, Maureen."

"Jerk," Maureen muttered, and Joanne shook her head, clamping closed the brick of a cellphone and burying it into her pocket, straining to see into the night.

"He is the reason we're here," she reminded her. "Without him, we never would have gotten the tip."

"And never would be out freezing our asses off on Christmas Eve. I'm serious. My butt is so frozen it's going to crack and fall off."

"Well, we can't have that." Palming one of her favorite assets, Joanne rubbed it vigorously, causing Maureen to squirm and eye her warily. "Come on," she said, grabbing hold of a gloved hand, exposed icy fingers knitted against hers. "We're wasting time." 

"You know, if you had to choose between my ass and my face, I really think you'd pick my ass." But Maureen kept moving, sharp eyes roving over the bodies of homeless people, shaking her head suddenly. "God, if she's really here, Joanne…" 

"I know." Fingers squeezing, Joanne offered a simple, stoic smile. "We'll find her, honey."

Maureen was quiet, letting go just enough to grab hold of a passing bundle of rags, stare the female in the face, and let her go just as quickly, shaking her head in defeat, leaving the poor startled person behind. 

Smiling apologetically, Joanne pressed a five dollar bill into her palm. "Merry Christmas," she said, and followed after her lover.

"You know what's weird?" Maureen said suddenly, when Joanne caught up. Tugging on her hat, Maureen looked almost like a Jewish thug, breath misty in the cold. "Okay, not weird so much as… interesting."

Arching an eyebrow, Joanne crossed her arms and kept her gaze on the benches on either side of them. "What?"

"It's us." The tone was weird, and Joanne finally dragged her gaze to Maureen's face, to face bright green eyes and a contemplative mouth turned downwards.

"It's us," she repeated, hoping that by saying it again Maureen would actually explain.

"Yeah," Maureen said, nodding. "I mean, we were the ones that broke up." Joanne's eyes flickered down, staring suddenly at the dirty cement. "And now… it's us."

Joanne's steps faltered, and she turned, looking into the face of the love of her life. There was another soft smile, and Joanne shook her head in wonder. Even on this dreary Christmas Eve, knowing what they were here to do, she couldn't help a soft swipe against Maureen's cheek.

"Did you ever think we'd be the stable ones?"

"Not in a million years," Maureen answered seriously, and Joanne snorted, falling into silence to simply consider the idea.

A step forward, and suddenly Maureen's lips were clinging to hers gently, chastely. Eyes flickering closed, Joanne curled an arm around her beloved, breathing hot air against a chilly cheek. Maureen held her tight, head bowing down until her face was buried into her collar, nestling into the wool there.

"I'm glad it's us," Maureen whispered, fingers gripping the sides of her coat.

Clutching her tight, Joanne let out a soft breath, and pressed a kiss to the knit cap on her lover's head. "I'm glad it's us, too." 

-- 

Dry, put together, clean, Joanne Jefferson's head was in her palms, elbows on her wooden desk, fighting off a monster headache, and a clammy, cold feeling that she was almost sure came from spending the majority of a frigid evening soaked to her skin, searching Alphabet City for a woman had suddenly turned into a ghost. 

_"You made me love you, and all I did was make you come."_

All the make up in the world couldn't cover the dark circles under her eyes, a product of a sleepless night, and her brain, tired and determined to focus on anything but today, continued only to repeat Maureen's parting words, drive it into her heart.

A large object slammed onto her desk, startling her. Head rising, Joanne discovered Steven wearing a grimace, pressing a box of cold medicine into her hand and getting to work on opening the cardboard box in front of her.

"What's that?" 

With an exasperated sigh, Steven lifted the lid off the box and produced a big brick of plastic. "This is your new cellphone."

"What?" He glared, flipping it open and holding it out to her. "Steven, that thing is huge." 

"I'm tired of trying to find you when you're off saving the world. You're taking it, and you're wearing it, and you're going to answer it when I call you, because dammit, Joanne, I'm keeping this job and so are you."

Joanne's mouth pressed into a grim smile, brow arching. "It's a little early to be this melodramatic, isn't it?"

"Tell me that again after this meeting." Straightening, Steven crossed his arms. "You know, I've always looked up to you, Joanne. People like you are the reason I want to be a lawyer, why I work my ass off at night and have no social life. I can see you trying to make a difference. But even I know when to draw the line."

Joanne sighed, fidgeting with the box of cold medicine and leaning forward, studying her assistant's warm brown eyes. "What did I tell you when I first hired you?"

He frowned. "You like your coffee black, just like you?"

Rolling her eyes, Joanne shook her head. "I told you that to be a lawyer you couldn't be objective. You had to believe in your case. If you don't, then you lose. I don't believe in this case anymore."

He tilted his head. "And what about the part where you slept with your client?"

"That's the part where I fucked up," she confirmed.

It was enough to make him smile, at least, and he nodded his head, stepping backwards, and heading for the door. "I guess you're allowed."

Taking two pills and palming them, Joanne winced at the sharp pain in her head. Swallowing the pills with a grimace, she glared at the brick, opening it and looking at the buttons of numbers.

Before her fingers could betray her, Steve buzzed her, a sharp sound that didn't improve her mood or her headache. "Yes," she asked, button on the intercom. 

"Hector Suddelson here for you."

Her chest tightened, and Joanne nodded, exhaling slowly. "Send him in." 

--

Hector's posture was tight, and his expression was pissed. Leaning back in her chair, Joanne tapped on her desk, lips pressed together.

He had a right.

"So this is why she wanted the damn meeting with those other two lawyers. You pissed her off."

Her sinus throbbed, and Joanne curled a hand around her neck, massaging into the skin. "It's slightly more complicated than that."

"Okay, you really pissed her off." Pushing off the chair, Hector looked tired and sick, dark spots blotching his perfect skin, on his neck. "Dammit, Joanne. One night. You couldn't wait one god-damned night to pull this shit."

Her eyes closed, and her head threatened to splinter. "Hector, whatever happened between me and your sister is not going to change how I handle this case. I'm a professional." 

"What kind of professional fucks her client?"

She was remarkably assured this was going to bite her in the ass for an eternity. "Do you want to boot me off t his case?" His crystal eyes were cold, face livid, but he paused, hand flexing. "If you want me off this case and out of this meeting, I will be out of it. If you think it's going to affect how your sister hears your decision, I will stay out of it, no explanations, no excuses." 

With that, he seemed to deflate. Falling into her chair, Hector's bangs fell into his face, and he suddenly looked like a lost little boy, shoulders sagging, face crumpling. "No, I don't want you off this case," he mumbled. "Okay? I'm just… damnit." 

Mouth pressed together, Joanne allowed him a moment of quiet, as her headache kept pounding and the weight on her shoulders only seemed to get heavier.

"Fine," she said, quietly and evenly, careful not to allow a second of weakness. To do so would give him license to break, and it wasn't what needed to happen. "But if I'm going to do this for you, you need to back me up, okay? No waffling. No wavering. You want what you want, and as your lawyer, I'm standing behind you. If, for a minute, you allow a second of doubt, you're not only ruined me, but you've got yourself a trial." 

He understood, and nodded. Joanne took a moment for herself, to stare at her desk and will herself through the pounding headache and the oncoming cold and the fever that was starting to make her sweat.

"My whole life, she's tried to take care of me. Two minutes older, and it meant everything." Rubbing his hands together, Hector smiled weakly. "Said I didn't know which way was up and would get myself killed without her watching over me." His smile faded. "Didn't ever think she'd be right."

"We can't control everything," she said quietly, and when he glanced up, she smiled sadly. "I'm just starting to figure that out." 

"Control everything?" he snorted. "I'd be happy to control SOMETHING."

--

"You don't look well."

The observation was made by Antonia, as Joanne settled into her chair in the conference room. Her estranged girlfriend wore a cream white suit, hair styled perfectly, an interesting, guarded expression on her face. They were, for the moment at least, alone.

Joanne, choosing glasses today in favor of her harder to manage contact lenses, slid the frames over her nose and regarded her lover.

"I didn't sleep well last night."

Antonia held her gaze, and then glanced away. "I called you. I wanted to make sure you got home okay."

_"You made me love you, and all I did was make you come."_

Joanne swallowed, and nodded. "I got your message. But we shouldn't discuss that now. Your brother requested this meeting."

She blanched, actually looking guilty. "Joanne…"

The door opened again, and Joanne was almost relieved, shoulders straightening, as Mr. Finch walked in, followed by Hector, and finally, Nicky.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"I asked Nicky to sit in," Mr. Finch said, answering her unspoken question with a hard look. "Nicky has been anxious to help however he can." 

"Joanne's my lawyer," Hector snapped, pulling out the chair beside her.

"Yes, however your sister is the one who requested additional representation." Joanne's eyes slid to Antonia, and the other woman shook her head, eyes closed, as if already regretting her decision.

"Before we get involved into the course of this trial," she began, determined to end this meeting as quickly and as painlessly as possible, "There is something that Hector has asked I bring up today."

Hector's lips pressed together as if bracing himself.

"Well of course we're always looking out for Mr. Suddelson's interests," Mr. Finch responded, diplomatic and smiling, as Nicky arched an eyebrow and fingered the arm of his chair. "Whatever will make him feel comfortable-"

"I'm not doing this." 

The sentence was quietly interjected, as Hector rubbed at one of the brown spots on his neck and offered a tired grimace. 

Joanne's entire body went rigid, and her eyes immediately slid to his twin sister's shocked expression.

"Excuse me?"

"Hector." Joanne leaned forward, hand on his arm. "Maybe you should let me-"

He flinched away. "I don't want to do this. Okay? I don't want this trial. I don't want a settlement. I don't want press knocking down my door. I don't want any of this."

_Well, fuck._ Lips dry, Joanne sat back, pushing her glasses back into place and prepared herself for the shit to hit the fan.

Mr. Finch looked very much like a fish, mouth dropped open and gasping. "Joanne?" 

"I stand with my client," she said firmly, simply. "This is what he wants, and I'll support his decision." 

Antonia visibly blinked, and Mr. Finch grew an interesting shade of pink. "You put this case together, Joanne. We have a good case for discrimination. Publicity is already starting to talk to the press."

"Which is why Mr. Suddelson came forward with this now," Joanne interrupted. "In order to keep man hours from being wasted."

Nicky coughed, a combination between a sneer and a snap. "You're kidding, right? Do you have any idea how many man hours have already been put in this thing?"

"Yes, and no one's put in more than me," Joanne snapped, eyes narrowed.

"Then you're aware at how much time and money the firm has invested, Joanne."

"We'll pay you for those hours," Hector snapped. "Right, Antonia?" 

Her girlfriend was quiet, hands in her lap, face drawn and closed. Mouth pursed together, she smiled thinly.

"This wasn't something you couldn't bring up at home?" she asked flatly. "You had to do this here. With her."

"This is HIS trial. He has a right to want no part in it. I'm his lawyer, Antonia."

"No, you're my girlfriend, Joanne." Joanne's heart thudded inside of her, and her eyes closed, saving herself from seeing Mr. Finch's reaction. "But obviously you can't be both. So, you're fired."

"Jefferson-" Mr. Finch began, face red and splotchy.

"You can't fucking DO that," Hector snapped, hands slamming on the table. 

"Dammit, Hector, can't you see she's doing this to get back at me?"

"It had nothing to do with you!" 

"Then why the hell did you bring her into it?" 

"Holy shit," Nicky breathed, shaking his head, and Joanne had had enough.

"STOP. Now." Rising up, she slammed her hands against the desk, eyes directly on her girlfriend. "Antonia, this is what your brother wants. I scheduled this meeting yesterday morning, or did you forget? For once, stop thinking the world revolves around you and consider for a minute, what your brother needs."

"Joanne, excuse yourself," Mr. Finch said quietly, dangerously. "Now."

--

"We're so fired." Steven kicked his feet up on her desk. When Joanne eyed the dirty shoes with a glare, he shrugged. "We're so fired," he repeated.

Joanne's headache was quickly reaching migraine proportions, and she snatched a tissue from her desk, flopping into her leather seat. "Well, consider the last couple weeks a textbook case on how NOT to handle a case," she sniffled. "My brain has betrayed me."

"No, your girlfriend betrayed you," he mused. "But only because she thinks you betrayed her."

"I did." Joanne smiled wanly. "For the past few weeks I was for using her to get over someone else. I was so intent on trying to ignore my heart I decimated this case, Antonia, Hector…"

"See? This is what happens when you overthink things," he said, hands behind his head. "They turn out even more fucked up." 

"Maybe I deserved this."

"Maybe you did, but I didn't."

Joanne managed a laugh, at the moment unable to do much else. "Don't worry," she told him, grabbing hold of his shoe and pushing his legs off her table. "I'll get you a good recommendation."

"Well, you better. And make sure it's a hot lawyer. I like telling people I work for a hot lawyer."

The door opened, and Joanne's smirk fell when she stared at Mr. Finch. His face was purposely severe, and Joanne's hands twitched, nodding toward Steven.

Her assistant quickly excused himself.

"How long did you know about that?" Mr. Finch said in the silence that followed, hawk eyes taking her in.

"He approached me with his concern two days ago, sir." It was amazing just long ago that lunch seemed.

"And you didn't try to convince him otherwise." 

"With all due respect the man is dying," Joanne answered, rising to her feet. "It doesn't leave much room for waffling. He made his decision. He asked me to execute it." 

Lips pursed together, his stance was awkward, and Mr. Finch shook his head slightly. "Go home, Jefferson," he said finally. "Get some rest. You look like hell."

Turning, he walked out of her office.

--

Joanne had stuck out like a sore thumb her entire life. She had never really belonged anywhere, with her ideals and otherness. She had long ago become comfortable with being noticed simply for being different.

The stares that she received now, she told herself, were no different than what she was used to. Tired, she made her way to the elevator, holding onto her briefcase loosely. Back straight, head held high, she closed her eyes against her feverish exhaustion and stepped inside the elevator, pushing the button marked 'Lobby'.

"Can you hold that?" Antonia jerked inside, and hazel eyes went wide with surprise and immediately wariness. Still, never one to stop away from a confrontation, her lover entered the small room and stared straight at the doors as they closed.

"I'm sorry," Joanne said suddenly.

Her ex-girlfriend stiffened, glanced back at her and then swiveled her gaze forward again. "For that? Forget it. I took care of it."

"No, I'm not apologizing for that." Joanne crossed her arms, turned her face her. "I'm sorry for hurting you." The beautiful woman, her lover of three weeks, turned once again, and for a moment, Joanne thought she saw a flash of genuine emotion, before the hardness returned to those orbs. "Listen to your brother, Antonia. If you want to take care of him, give him what he needs, not what you need." 

The doors opened, and Antonia stepped out of them, away from her, as if she hadn't heard.

--

Pushing forward, Joanne stepped into her apartment, flicking on the light to look at the solitary state of her own life.

Shrugging off her trench coat, she let it fall where she stood, stepping out of the lump of fabric, pulling on her tie, kicking off her heels.

Green eyes and a wide smile, brunette curls and a sharp laugh tickled her senses, and Joanne caught her breath, staring around the apartment before she realized her headache had reached epic proportions and she was actually cooking.

Grabbing a Kleenex, Joanne blinked the vision out of her blurry senses and blew her nose hard. She tossed the used tissue toward the garbage can and missed.

It wasn't the only thing lying on her floor, next to the trash can.

Coming forward, Joanne knelt down and picked up a wrinkled sheet of paper, crumpled together.

Suddenly trembling, Joanne unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles with her fingertips, until she looked at Maureen's protest flier, barely legible, with a date, a time, a place.

She closed her eyes and bent her hot head over the cool paper, and clutched it close to her heart.

-- _end chapter_


	20. Chapter 20

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 20.**

_So take a look at me now  
There's just an empty space  
There's nothing left here to remind me  
just the memory of your face  
Take a look at me now  
there's just an empty space  
you coming back to me is against the odds  
and that's what i've gotta face_  
-- 'Against All Odds' The Postal Service

--

Joanne Jefferson worked out three times a week, watched what she ate, and made sure she got six hours of sleep a night, if she could manage it. She took supplements if she felt she needed them, and every winter, she got a flu shot, despite her somewhat irrational fear of needles. 

There was simply no reason for her to get sick. Ever.

Of course, up until recently, she hadn't ever made a habit of staying out in pouring rain in forty degree weather. She had never lost her temper during a meeting, and she had never put herself in a position where her entire career could hinge on a single case. She had never used someone else to get past her own emotional hang ups. She had never fallen so hard and so fast despite herself.

It was a month of remarkable firsts.

She made it to the elevator lobby of her apartment building, a rolled up ball of tissue in her hand, bloodshot eyes staring blearily out at the marble tile and the doorman shivering in his coat. Her head throbbed, like a hammer banging on her forehead as if it were a gong, and unable to breathe, she gave up.

Dizzily, she pressed the button for her floor and closed her eyes, slumping back against the elevator wall. 

--

_"You've reached the home of Joanne Jefferson. I'm currently unavailable. Please leave a detailed message and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience." _

"Kitten, it's your father. I got a call from Fred Finch this morning, and it gave me a bit of a cause for concern. I'd like to talk to you. Call me when you can. I'd like to head off your mother before she decides to get 'involved'. Love you, kitten." 

"You've reached the home of Joanne Jefferson. I'm currently unavailable. Please leave a detailed message and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."

"Joanne, it's Steve. Look, I know you're really sick, and all, but Mr. Finch isn't exactly convinced. He's asking to set a meeting with you tomorrow. The senior partners got wind of what happened yesterday. I'm just saying, be prepared for some shit to go down tomorrow. It's pretty tense here. Get better."

"You've reached the home of Joanne Jefferson. I'm currently unavailable. Please leave a detailed message and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."

"Joanne, what the hell did you get yourself into? Gail called me and said you dropped your biggest case? Nicky Lombardo is strutting around the courthouse like a friggin' peacock and I call Steve and you called in sick? When have you ever called in sick? That's it. I'm getting Megan and I'm coming over. And don't think I won't. I still have your key." 

-- 

"Joanne. Hey. Jojo."

Silk fabric nearly swallowed her head whole, and Joanne only buried herself deep into it, fingers clutching underneath the pillow, eyes clamping shut. 

She shivered, going from too hot to too cold when the heavy comforter was yanked from her torso. Fingers, cool and dry, pressed against her exposed face.

"Holy shit, Cindy. She's burning up."

"What? Let me see."

She mumbled something, not sure exactly what it was, but Joanne was sure she was saying something quite mean, as she flailed at the two hands obstructing her breathing.

"What?"

"It's COLD!" she managed, slurring her words as she fumbled for the comforter, trying to dig herself in deeper to her self imposed cocoon.

"Jesus, you look like crap. What the hell happened to you?"

With awareness, came the return of the building pressure in her head. It didn't make her feel any better. Shivering, she opened her eyes to blearily take in posh versions of her friends, alive and well. She suddenly hated them for it.

"I'm sick," she snipped, trying to whisper, under the radar of her pounding headache.

Immediately, Megan sat down, rump pushing against Joanne's hip until she was forced to fall onto her back, staring dizzily up at the ceiling. When her friends cool hand once again pressed to her blazing hot forehead, she didn't have the energy to be anything but relieved.

"Keep that there for the next few hours, yeah?"

"Have you eaten?" she demanded. "Cindy, get a cold wet towel, will you?" 

"Already on it," Joanne heard. "You're lucky I used to live here."

"Good, then you know where her clothes is. Get her a clean t-shirt, some shorts, and some new under… thingies."

"Your hand's hot now," Joanne said, blinking one eye open warily. "Get it off."

"How the hell did you get like this?" Megan demanded, as Cindy returned, bobbing the bed with her weight, making Joanne wince in reaction, her stomach gurgling in response.

"I was out in the rain," Joanne responded, and suddenly sighed, as a cool, wet cloth was suddenly placed on her forehead. She couldn't help but smile. "I love you."

"You were out in the rain?"

"She's not sick," Cindy said, above her, already pulling at buttons on her flannel pajamas. "She's gone insane. Quick, look for a crazy performance artist." 

"Cindy? Not helping. Get that soup I brought and put it in a bowl, okay?" Joanne opened her eyes once more, taking in Megan as she took over undressing her, curling a hand underneath her shoulders and sliding the flannel off her shoulder.

Joanne tried to help, and slowly, the sluggishness began to wear off, and her senses began to perk up, as much as they were able.

"God, you're really burning up," Megan muttered, yanking the tanktop over her head, bangs coming loose from her bun thanks to her effort. "Are you on anything? Medication?"

"Don't have any."

"You do now," Megan responded, reaching inside her large Coach bag and pulling out two different bottles of medicine. "Exactly what possessed you to go out into the rain?" 

Joanne hesitated, wincing as her head pulsed, taking the little pills Megan pressed into her palm gratefully. "I was looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" Joanne bit her lip, glancing up to discover Cindy balancing on her heels, teetering with a wooden dinner tray that held a bowl of something that actually smelled good. "Check this out."

Setting the tray on Joanne's lap, Cindy eased down onto the bed and produced a familiar looking flier. Joanne sighed and said nothing, staring at the hand drawn paper, and then down at her soup.

"That's a crappy looking flier," Megan said, but took it anyway, as she waved a perfectly manicured palm towards Joanne. "Eat. It's matzo ball chicken soup." When Cindy shot her a look, Megan only shook her head. "What?"

"You are so going to be my mother when you grow up."

"Shut up."

Joanne stared at the bowl. "You got me soup with a ball in it?"

"Eat it," Megan said again, and Joanne grimaced, digging into the quivering mound of meal. "This is for tonight."

"Mmhmm." Crossing her arms, Cindy grabbed hold of the wet towel that had slipped from Joanne's forehead, redepositing it around her neck. "What happened, honey?"

Joanne swallowed down the food, felt the warm dough making it's way down her esophagus. "Everything," she muttered. "I think I'm gonna get fired. Antonia and I broke up."

"Told you," Cindy said, almost as an aside to Megan, one hand on the comforter. "She get pissed about Maureen again?"

"No, she slept with Maureen," she answered matter-of-factly, and then yelped when Megan slapped her leg, nearly tipping the soup over. "Hey!"

"What?" Cindy stammered, grabbing hold of Megan's shoulder. "She what?" 

"Yeah," she replied, over the melodrama. The soup was actually quite tasty, and somehow it made it easier. She swallowed another spoonful. "They slept with each other to get back at me, because they said I was using them and it made them feel cheap or something."

"They slept with each other? Women are mean." Megan shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"That is so incestuous." Cindy shrugged. "And kinda flattering."

"No, it sucked," Joanne said, eyes rising to offer her ex a good glare. "And I got really pissed and I went in the rain and I found Maureen and told her to leave me alone."

"Good," Cindy interrupted.

"-And she said she loved me and would have left Mark for me and that I was only in it for the sex."

Megan blinked. Cindy's eyes widened, and the two women only stared, lost in the enormity of the statement.

"…What?"

"And then she ran away and I went in the rain looking for her, and got soaked. And then I went to work and told Finch Hector didn't want to do the trial anymore, and Antonia booted me from the case and Mr. Finch sent me home, and I couldn't go to work today because I was really dizzy." Pursing her lips, Joanne stared hard into the direction of her living room. "I should check my messages." 

Her friends continued to remain quiet, and when Joanne looked at them, Megan flinched and went back to reading her flier, the crinkling of the paper the only sound.

"So um… sucky couple days, huh?" Cindy finally ventured. "No wonder you didn't get out of bed today."

"I got out," Joanne corrected her, and fished around the celery for another morsel of chicken. "I just got back in."

There was yet another bout of silence, as Joanne concentrated on her disappearing Matzo ball, and the chicken broth surrounding it.

Somehow, the simple act made her deliriously happy.

"Well…" Megan's smile was tight, strained. "You know what they say. There's no place to go but up."

"I should go to work." Joanne shivered and sliced into the last of the ball with her spoon. "I need to go-"

A gentle finger on her wrist kept her from moving. "Jo…" Carefully, Megan took the tray from her lap, and Cindy smiled warmly, staying put. "You know I love you. But don't be an idiot. Okay, more of an idiot than you've already been. But you're sick. So get better, and then you can work on putting your life back together." Joanne's eyes fluttered closed when soft lips pressed against her clammy forehead, a gentle, loving caress. "Love you, Jojo. Now go to sleep." 

"Cindy…"

"Sleep," came the order, and suddenly, Joanne was too tired to do much else. The cold towel was once again pressed against her forehead, making her sigh in response. Against her will, her body betrayed her, and her eyes fluttered closed once again.

--

_"First kiss." _

It was a simple game, and Joanne had played it before. The game of firsts, that she and Maureen began the second night they were together, at the beginning of that infamous weekend.

Maureen grinned, reaching forward with one strong hand to knit their fingers together, free hand buried in her curls, holding her head up. "Jimmy Tanner. Under the jungle gym. I was eight. Your turn." 

Joanne's smile curled, and she pretended to think about it, sliding onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. "You don't want to know."

"Yes I do!" Sliding over, Maureen let go of her hand in favor of crawling on top of her, chin against her collarbone. A delicious smile painted her wide mouth. "Come on."

Joanne sighed dramatically, and shook her head in resignation. "13. Todd Berkowitz. At the movies," she said, and when Maureen's eyes widened, and shrugged.

"You kissed a boy?"

The surprise in her tone was more glee than anything else, and bemused, Joanne stretched her arms behind her back, eyeing the naked woman currently sitting on top of her. "Yes. I kissed a boy. It was even nice. But not what I thought it would be." Maureen's brow arched, and Joanne's mouth moved into a soft smirk. "Ultimately I realized the reason was I was thinking of his sister when he did it."

"Nice," Maureen said, and Joanne snorted. "First time you had sex." 

"Ummm…" Joanne's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and then she shivered, as Maureen playfully bit at her nipple, an urge to continue. "Oww."

"Come on!" 

"You first," Joanne said.

Never one to be shy about such things, Maureen crossed her arms over Joanne's chest, and settled in against her. "I was sixteen. His name was Rudy. He was more scared than I was."

"Were you?" Maureen glanced up, and Joanne studied the expression. "Scared," she explained, at the puzzled look.

Maureen waited a moment, face suddenly somber as she considered the question, and then buried her cheek between two breasts, nuzzling the area. "Yeah," she said finally. "A little. I guess that's kinda why I did it. I wanted to get it over with." Joanne reached forward, buried fingers into brunette curls. "What about you?" she asked quietly.

Joanne's head fell back against the pillows, and she stared at the ceiling, lost in the memory. "Seventeen years old. At Miss Porter's." Maureen's browns knit together. "Boarding school," Joanne elaborated. "In my dorm room. With Marie, the French Diplomat's daughter."

"Wow." 

Joanne snorted. "Honey, when we're naked, we're all the same."

Maureen grinned, as if ready to contest that only because she felt like being contrary. "So? Was she good?" 

Joanne smiled. "Yes, she was good. As good as the first time can be when you don't know what you're doing. It was sweet. I was in love."

The 'l' word had a somewhat sobering affect, as Joanne remembered a blonde girl with crystal green eyes, a smart smile and a love for dance. Maureen quieted as well, and Joanne was blinked back into their present when the woman shifted on top of her, curling just under her chin, releasing a small sigh.

It was a taboo word in a relationship that was purely about sex, and Joanne didn't know why she felt the need to slide fingers through silky hair, almost comforting.

"Must have been nice." 

There was a soft sort of longing, and Joanne's heart slowed it's beat, suddenly drawn into the present, into the feel and weight of the woman against her. Deceptively soft curls, bright green eyes, a too wide, kissable mouth.

"This is nice," she corrected. A second, and then the figure moved, and she looked into a serious face, gaze locking with hers intensely.

When Maureen smiled, it was the sweetest thing she had ever seen. 

-- 

Sluggish, Joanne's fever had subsided some what when she awoke, and her headache had settled into a dull, but manageable throb. She was still sweaty, still clammy, but she seemed oddly alert, unsure as to why that was until her fingers clenched and she discovered a white flier.

Unfolding the wrinkled, abused paper, she looked at it, studied, and as her heart beat and her head throbbed.

Eyes closing, she curled into a fetal position, and considered her life.

"Fuck it," she whispered, wincing as she began to move. "Your life is already shit. Can't get any worse, and there's only one way it's going to get better." 

Finding her shoes was tough, and she fumbled into a pair of jeans, and grabbed hold of her thick wool jacket, fingers slipping on her keys, heading for the door.

--

_End chapter_


	21. Chapter 21

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 21.**

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are _

I had to find you  
Tell you I need you  
Tell you I set you apart

Tell me your secrets  
And, Ask me your questions  
Oh, let's go back to the start  
-- 'The Scientist' Coldplay

--

_"You know, we all knew." _

Glancing up, Joanne wasn't sure what Roger meant. It had been a relatively quiet moment he had interrupted, just the two of them in the empty loft, as she shivered in her large trench coat, and he in his leather jacket and scarf.

The comment had erupted on the tail end of Roger scribbling his signature across the papers that she had drawn up, just in case they needed to sue Benny over his impending eviction. It was honestly a little awkward at first, she and Roger, even in the midst of the entire group, had never had much to say to each other; his whole world was Mimi and Mark, and Joanne had had her hands full simply trailing after Maureen. But Mark was off filming, Mimi gearing up for another shift at the Cat Scratch Club, Angel and Collins were in their own little lovenest, and her lovely Maureen had elected to stay in their cushy warm apartment.

"You all knew what?" she asked, taking back the papers, sliding them into her briefcase as Roger slumped down onto the produce wooden crate they had ransacked from the back of the nearby grocery store.

"About you and Maureen." Joanne straightened, bewildered, when Roger suddenly smiled, shoving his hand into his pocket and coming up with a wrinkled cigarette. He offered it to her, but she shook her head.

"No thank you," she said, crossing her arms as she watched him now try the other pocket for a match. "What do you mean you knew?"

"Well, we didn't know you were a girl," he amended, coming up victorious, shaking the little matchbox and grinning like a little boy when a little rattle sounded. "But we knew she had met someone. Mark knew, even if he ignored it."

Joanne's lips pressed together, and she blew out a foggy breath, feeling rationally guilty. Had she known Mark, there would have been more guilt over essentially 'stealing' Maureen from the handsome blonde Jewish boy. Still, there had been nothing to do but get over those feelings, and get over them quickly, and it had been done, over a tango and shared commiseration. If anything, he seemed almost relieved to be rid of the drama that came with Maureen, though it wasn't much of a secret he would jump at the chance again.

It was simply the way of it, and like Mark accepted her place in Maureen's life, Joanne had to simply accept Mark's own feelings for her newly engaged lover.

"Listen, Roger-"

Sucking in the nicotine, he shook his head, waving her off. "No," he said, mouth puckering around the little stick, slurring his words, "It's cool. That's not why I brought it up." Joanne, kept quiet, eyeing him in open confusion. "Look, I'm the last person to judge about personal fuck ups, okay? If you only knew the shit I pulled with Mark when…" Roger paused, grabbing hold of the cigarette and taking the moment to exhale, regaining himself in the process. "When I was in withdrawal. I fucking almost beat him senseless looking for the drugs he hid from me. I'm not one to talk about it, is all."

Joanne didn't know quite what to say to that. Standing there, she glanced at the dusty floor, then at the cracks in the windows, the filthy home that they were fighting to keep. Suddenly, she understood why.

Too many memories, good and bad, rested in these walls, with the dustmites and rats.

"So why did you bring it up?" she said, coming back to the subject, sounding professional and snippy, even if that wasn't how she meant it.

Roger took another drag of his cigarette, concentrating on just that, before he once again blew out the smoke, elbow resting on his knee. "Mark would let Maureen do whatever she wanted. You know? Because he felt bad – cause of me. Figured she had a right to screw around if all his energy was spent on me."

"What?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I got it out of him, once. I thought he was a pussy for not seeing through her lies. I mean, they weren't even GOOD excuses. But he said she always came home, and once I got clean – it would be different." Roger shook his head, as if he was as frustrated with Mark now as he was then. "I told him to let me go, but he wouldn't, and for a while, he was right. Maureen always came home. And then one day she didn't."

Joanne stayed standing, unsure where it was going, eyes on the reminiscing rocker. "She didn't."

"No. That weekend she was staying with her friend 'Joanne'," he said, using air quotes and an ironic smile. "She came home after that, but she didn't, really. I could see it. Even Mark. Maureen was always playing a part, but she wasn't here. Not really." Joanne sucked in her breath, trying to fight the painful ache in her chest. "She was trying too hard," he explained. "Trying too hard to be happy with Mark. After a while she stopped trying."

Swallowing hard, Joanne was suddenly hot, and she broke their gazes, looking somewhere, anywhere else. It didn't last. After a second or two, her eyes were back on Roger, watching him struggle for words.

Rubbing his hands together in the cold, Roger took another long drag of his cigarette. "I always wondered if you two were together because of me. If I hadn't been such a screw up, maybe they would have been able to fix it somehow."

"You blamed yourself for them breaking up."

His smile was bitter, sad. "Made sense, right? Screw over everything I touch, why would Mark be an exception." He fumbled with cigarette, dropping it to the floor and stamping his heel down on it. "But I don't think that anymore."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think they would have made it. She would have met you eventually." Roger looked up, and rubbed his fingers into his shaggy hair. "Look, Joanne, I don't believe much in destiny, or fate, or any of that. I'm lucky that I can make it each day clean. But we all get hooked on something, and Maureen, from that first day, she was hooked on you. We could all see it." Joanne quirked her eyebrow, and he looked flustered. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… congratulations. Or something."

Roger was Mark's best friend. It was as good as she was ever going to get.

She cherished it, just the same.

"Thank you."

He grinned, and Joanne shook her head, and smiled. "Get your skinny white ass up, Roger. Let's get some food into you."

--

Maureen's performance space was housed in an abandoned warehouse littered with graffiti and bums. Joanne stood outside the building, eyes on a sick old man who huddled into his cardboard house, as she huddled into her own jacket, eyes bloodshot and still dizzy.

The double doors in front of her burst open, and she jumped, nearly flailing back when she was almost plowed over by a young man, coming out at a furious pace.

"Oh, man – sorry!" Strong hands grabbed hold of her, and Joanne tried hard to blink away her dizziness, sucking in her breath as she looked into a blurry vision of blonde hair and glasses. "You okay?"

Fingers tightened automatically at the broad shoulders, and she tried to regain her footing, shaking her head furiously to try to get the cobwebs out. "Sorry, I'm just…"

"Wow – you don't look so good – can I help you?"

She managed to steady herself, smiling gratefully as she straightened, staring into the handsome young man's concerned expression, blue and gray scarf wrapped around his neck, looking warm and healthy and a little flustered.

"I guess I must stand out," she muttered, and reached into her pocket, pulling out the wrinkled flier. "I'm here for the performance…"

"Oh…" He seemed to recognize the flier, at least, because he sighed dramatically, and glanced back at the building he had just vacated. "You're a couple hours early."

"Oh…" Her head began to pound, and she ignored it in favor of her falling heart. "I see."

"It's just prep work right now." She blinked, looking at the empty building. "Can I get you a cab or something?"

"No… no thank you. I'm fine. I'll just… I'll be fine." He looked unsure, but she shot him a smile. "Thank you. I might not be able to come back later and I'd rather just take a look now, if I could."

He arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Well, it's all yours." He once again flushed, and Joanne blinked, unsure why. Hefting the camera he carried over his shoulder, he flashed a weak grin and let her go, heading for the bicycle tied to a nearby pile of concrete. "Be careful."

Watching him wheel away, Joanne stared at the performance space, and took in a stuttering breath, moving for the doors.

Joanne had never felt as fragile as she did the moment she pushed open those doors and stepped into Maureen's domain. She felt naked, and was hot and cold at the same time, shivering in her coat and unwilling to take it off, sniffling as she wrapped arms around herself and looked around the large concrete room, scattered with bums and sporting a large, makeshift stage in the far end.

Leaning over some sort of black box, was Maureen.

Suddenly unable to breathe, Joanne simply stood there, taking in the object of her affection, watching dark curls cascade over the fair face as Maureen leaned over the box, black leather pants and a tight black top stretched over her curvy frame.

Something hit Joanne in her chest, hard. She suddenly was gasping, eyes blinking with tears, and she had to hold her palm to her breast, try to calm herself down from the overwhelming emotion that came from just laying eyes on Maureen.

Wiping furious at the wetness in her eyes, she sucked in her breath loudly, fists falling together and coming forward, as Maureen, finally attuned to her presence, jerked her head up, and caught her gaze.

Frozen, Joanne simply stared, lost for words, as Maureen took her in, heated, intense expression paralyzing her as green eyes broke from her own, raked over her body, up to her face once more.

"Hi," she finally managed, voice husky and rough.

"What are you doing here?" The question came off as deflated, as Maureen straightened, silver bracelets clinking against one another as she crossed her arms. It was a defensive posture. "You look like hell."

Trying to talk around the lump in her throat was nearly impossible, and so Joanne swallowed down on it, trying to control her swooning emotion, shivering in her coat. "What are you doing?" It sounded so desperate, her trying so hard to be casual.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Maureen said, after a beat, and Joanne found it almost hilariously funny, how she was coming off as the crazy one and Maureen was nearly sane. "I'm trying to figure out this fucking equipment because my boyfriend is being an asshole."

Joanne couldn't stop trembling. "Why is he being an asshole?"

Maureen looked at her like she was insane. "Because apparently someone told him about what happened at the Life Café two nights ago."

"Oh." Joanne's breath quickened, and she tried to bury herself further into her jacket, dizzy and unsure of what steps to take. "I see."

Maureen's head rose, her eyes darkened. "You see?" she repeated, nearly spitting in her sudden emotion. "Fuck you, Joanne." Joanne gulped, stayed still, as Maureen began to jerk at the leather motorcycle gloves covering her fingertips, pulling them off finger by finger. "You know, you ruined my life."

Joanne blinked, so lost in her own emotion she wasn't sure if it was really Maureen that had said that or herself. "Pardon me?"

"A month ago, I was perfect." Slapping the gloves down on the felt box, Maureen's eyes once again connected with hers, suddenly moist. "I was fine. I had what I thought I needed, and I was getting along fine. And then you came along, and you ruined everything." Maureen halted her words, biting down on her bottom lip, eyes closing as fingers came up to her eyes, as if trying to shield herself. "Sometimes I wish I had never met you."

The words were so similar, so surreal, and Joanne, in her delirious sick haze, nearly choked herself with the sudden laugh the words produced. It was ironic, yes, and somehow damning, and yet, she couldn't help the choking hysteria, that had her nearly collapsing on the dusty floor of Maureen's performance space.

It was when Maureen came forward, eyes wide and confused, catching hold of her, trying to keep her steady in her fit of coughing, that the laughter turned to near sobs. Tears trickled down her cheeks, as soft hands wrapped around her waist. Unconsciously she turned, sucking in her own emotion to bury her face into the crook of her ex-lover's neck.

"Oh my God, you're burning up." Fingers curled into her wiry black hair, holding her close, voice unsteady with emotion. "What hell happened to you?"

She clutched at those strong arms, and looked up into emerald eyes, sick and dizzy and never more sincere. "I got all wet. I went out into the rain looking for you and I got all wet, and my life is hell because of it."

Maureen stared down at her, the trembling faded version of herslf. "What?"

"I'm a wreck, Maureen. I'm a wreck, and I've lost almost everything I care about and I don't care. The only thing I care about is that I've lost you." Fingers clenched onto forearms, and Joanne tried to calm herself down, put herself on equal ground. But she was too weak, and Maureen held her so tightly she couldn't let go. Joanne had no choice but to surrender herself to it. "I didn't want to do it. I tried everything I could to try not to do it, but it didn't work, and now I don't want to fight it anymore. I'm tired of fighting it."

Maureen's eyes were moist, brilliant in their emerald hue. Her words were whispered. "Fight what?"

Joanne closed her eyes, sweaty and exhausted. Teetering, she managed to right herself, stare into a beautiful face that now held everything she ever wanted. "I love you, Maureen." Maureen inhaled sharply, but Joanne could only smile weakly. "Sometimes I think I know everything and this time, I know that I know nothing. All I know, is that I've loved you forever, and my life won't be better, until you tell me you love me too." Joanne blinked, shook her head, and opened her eyes again, refocusing them on the woman in front of her, who had gone completely still. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I've never felt so incompetent in my life. I'm a complete mess, and it's because of you, and I don't want it any other way. You're… beautiful and funny and crazy and nothing like anything I've ever seen and it makes insane, but it makes me crave. You make me want to hold onto you forever and never let go and I want a chance to make you feel the same way."

Her throat ached, and she was starting to tremble again, and the tiny bit of her brain that was still rational told her once more to get her ass home and get to sleep. She ignored it.

"So… um… I guess… what I'm asking…" She closed her eyes, screwed them shut tightly, and banged her fist to her forehead, trying desperately to clear her thoughts, make her meaning clear. "I'm asking you to leave Mark. To be with me."

The words hung in the air, but they were out, and Joanne smiled as much as she could, being feverish and dizzy and in pain. Sniffling, she must have looked pathetic, huddled into her coat, without make up, without her suit, without anything that made her HER. Nothing but her painfully naked, bleeding heart, exposed and offered to the one person in the world who had the power to crush it.

Awareness of her faults made her lose her nerve, and her exhaustion suddenly increased, as Maureen simply stood there, uncharacteristically silent. With every passing moment, Joanne's stamina failed her. "I should… maybe…"

Maureen came to life, and Joanne's words died in her throat when her lover took a step forward, then another, until one hand was moving possessively around Joanne's waist, curling fingers around her hip, shoulder moving underneath her arm, a human crutch.

Joanne wasn't sure what was happening, as Maureen stared at her, expression unreadable. "Come on, I'm getting you home."

--

She rode with her in the taxi, holding Joanne tightly against her body, as the shivering, sick woman huddled close to her, eyes shut, as if ashamed at her own weakness. Maureen walked with her past the doorman and into the elevator, pushed the button to her floor, and when they got to her door, fished into her pockets for her keys.

Flicking through the ring of metal, she picked the right one and inserted it into her lock, and then led her to her bed, pulling off shoes and shoving off the jacket. Maureen was methodic, firm but not rough, and like a doll, Joanne let her undress her, until she was in her bed, covered in cool sheets. She was given a glass of water and another pair of pills, and then Maureen squeezed her hand, and left.

Joanne heard her door click shut, and shut her eyes, too tired to cry.

--

The room was dark when her eyes opened again, but it wasn't the lack of light that had awoken her from the miserable sleep that had claimed her.

She was sweaty, tired, but her eyes were alert, and her headache had dulled, as she opened her eyes and wondered if what she had done had been nothing more than a fitful dream.

Footsteps shuffled in her apartment, and Joanne was suddenly alert, heart jerking as her body turned in the direction of the sound.

Her doorknob creaked, and Joanne was rendered breathless when Maureen stepped into the room, shrugging off a leather jacket, green eyes pinned on her.

"Hi."

Joanne blinked, too overwhelmed to respond as Maureen went to work on her gloves, and after she got them off, sat on the nearby chair, and pulled at her boots.

"Maureen," she whispered, and her lover glanced up, met her gaze, and smiled simply.

"Sorry," she responded, a gentle tone. "It took longer than I thought."

"What did?"

Maureen paused, looked at her. "Leaving Mark."

Two words, and they still managed to floor her. Her heart began to beat again, jumpstarting in her heart, so hard and so fast they flooded her ears, drowning out any other sound, any other thought.

"Oh," was all she could manage, and then Maureen smiled, and came forward, crawling on the bed on her hands and knees, and curling into her sticky, sweaty body.

She was sick and she was positively jobless, and it didn't seem to matter now.

Grateful and humbled, Joanne sighed into the curls at the top of the other woman's head.

"Joanne?"

"Yeah, honey."

"I'm sorry I slept with your girlfriend."

The incredulous laughter caused a hack, and she nearly choked because of it.

It didn't seem to matter.

_End chapter_


	22. Chapter 22

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes:-)

--

**Chapter 22.**

"I'll get you sick," she warned, a soft, delicate croak, eyelid fluttering with exhaustion, minutes after Maureen had crawled into the bed, settling her head against the pillow.

"So I'll get sick," Maureen answered matter-of-factly, and scooted closer, until they were curled toward each other, one hand entangled, forehead tilting, eyes closed.

--

Joanne's fever broke in the middle of the night. The irony that it happened so soon after her spirit had been broken was not lost on a woozy Joanne, who, even in her sickly state, would later ponder on the significance.

When the darkness from her window began to lighten into morning, and the sounds from outside changed from birds chirping to the heavy sound of traffic, Joanne's attention was only on Maureen.

Despite the aches of her body, the chills that ran rampant, just before she broke out in sweat, she could only concentrate on the dark curls that fell across the angular face, the expression on the sleeping woman. Maureen wasn't smiling, but the corners of her mouth were turned up, and the intense hardness that she had seen on her earlier at her performance space was gone in the favor of something else.

Maureen actually looked peaceful. And exhausted.

It was a curious revelation, to look upon the striking features and realize that whatever trauma had been inflicted on Joanne because of all this, had hit her lover just as hard. Maureen slept like the dead, and her hand had reached forward during the night and wrapped around Joanne's bicep, as if to somehow keep her from leaving.

Joanne shifted on the bed, falling into her back, and almost immediately, her wayward lover crept forward, until her cheek was resting on her shoulder, her nose buried into her throat, settling herself in unconscious sleep. It was unexpectedly tender, and Joanne fingertips slid delicately over Maureen's shoulder, soothing.

--

An hour later, she had come to a decision.

"I have to go to work," she said, in a gravely and rough tone, as the figure beside her stirred, allowing her to pull her captive hand away from her lover and massage it back to life with a series of painful tingles.

Maureen's curls were flattened slightly from her long nap, and the big green eyes that had captivated Joanne before were no less intoxicating, as she curled into the pillow and stared at her, processing the sentence.

"You're sick," Maureen reminded her, flat and even.

Joanne wasn't the cheesy type, but the momentary awareness of her own feelings had her suddenly smiling, reaching over to tug on a slightly smushed curl. "Actually I don't think I've ever felt better."

Maureen made a face, teasing, before turning her head and hiding her expression into the pillow. "God," Joanne heard, a pretend irritated mumble. "That's mushy."

"You might have to get used to it, honeybear." The casual endearment threw even her, and she blinked at the slip, before Maureen's mouth curled into a veiled smile, and she shook her head, letting it go. "I need to go to work," she repeated, her voice a little more firm, more clear, the old Joanne rushing back to the surface. "And face what I need to. Fix it."

Maureen shifted her body, spilling onto her back, so at home on Joanne's bed that the mere act made her ache just a little bit. "Fix what?"

Joanne smiled wryly. "For a neat nick, I've left myself quite a mess to clean up, Maureen. My firm has probably lost one of it's biggest clients. I've thrown the case, and probably lost my job. But I'm not afraid to go in and face that. Not anymore."

Head tilting at an odd angle, Maureen studied her, the expression in her eyes deep and mysterious. Joanne waited a second, then another, before Maureen pushed to her elbows, and regarded her evenly. "You know, there are times when I really don't think I'll ever get you." 

Joanne considered that, and felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. "And others?" she prompted.

Maureen shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling, as if pondering the very question herself. "And other times I feel like I've never known any one better. You're weird, Joanne. You're the weirdest person I've ever met." Chin jutting in her direction, Maureen's perfectly arched brow lifted into her forehead. "But God help me, I am fucking crazy about you."

And suddenly Joanne was flattened, barreled over by the other woman, on her back and pinned underneath a warm, supple body.

"You're well enough to work," Maureen breathed, "You're well enough to make love to me". And then lips descended hotly, possessively over hers. Maureen was dominating and unforgiving, and Joanne succumbed immediately, eyes closing and tongue plunging into Maureen's mouth, shuddering at the sensation.

Before the words sunk in and fingers tangled into Maureen's curls. Shivering, Joanne pulled on the thick mane, blinking away the haze of lust to stare in astonishment at the panting woman above her.

"What?" Maureen asked, green eyes darting.

"Did you just say 'make love'?" Joanne reiterated, and Maureen blinked, the phrasing sinking in, her lover's mouth opening and then closing like a fish.

"I... shut up."

The unexpected joy, coupled with her own amusement at Maureen's obvious befuddlement, caused a rip of laughter, as Joanne once again pulled Maureen lower, and whispered gently, "I love you," before sinking into the velvety lips.

A sigh against her mouth, and Maureen seemed to liquefy, plastering against her body, arms wrapping tightly around her. "Say that again.," Maureen begged, in an dark, desperate voice, that reminded Joanne all too well how hard she had tried to deny the feelings.

Slipping fingers underneath a sweaty shirt, eyes closed, reveling in the complicated wonder that was her lover, Joanne mumbled the words against Maureen's mouth, aware that for the first time in her life, she had the faith she could say it forever to this woman and mean it.

--

When the elevator opened, Joanne took a moment for herself: to straighten her shoulders, inhale deeply, and remember who she was.

Her fingers closed around her briefcase, and standing there, staring into the corridor that would lead her to her office and ultimately, decide the fate of her career, Joanne's uncertainty came back to haunt her. 

Her whole life, Joanne had defined herself by her actions: her categories. She was a lawyer. She was black. She was gay. If she wasn't a lawyer, exactly who was she?

She began to tremble, and she closed her eyes, breathing in sharply, determined to pass her nerves off as remnants of her cold.

She was the woman who had somehow made Maureen love her. Beautiful, intoxicating, maddening, insane Maureen, who had come into her life and disrupted everything about it, and made her come alive.

At the end of all things, was Maureen, and in that, was a life outside her work, a cause, outside her work.

Pushing away the lump of emotion with a harsh swallow, Joanne stepped into the hallway, determined to reclaim her poise and her life.

--

Mr. Finch's movements were deliberate and overblown. The file folder clapped open with a sharp twang that pierced through the uncomfortable silence, and his forehead seemed permanently wrinkled, as he clicked and clacked his Mont Blanc, tapping the end on the file that may have held her whole livelihood.

Joanne cleared her throat, an effort to quench her own nerves, as she crossed her legs and let her hands settle on top of her knees.

Removing his old fashioned spectacles, Mr. Finch finally stopped the heavy handed intimidating, settling for a long glare and a dramatic sigh.

"I know why I'm here," Joanne said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence with her own interruption, straightening and looking at him.

Fingers knitted together, Mr. Finch settled into his chair, brow arching almost ridiculously into his head. "Do you?"

"I made a mistake," she answered quickly. "I'll be frank, I made several." The frown on her boss' face only deepened. "But I still stand by my former client's wishes. Hector Suddelson did not want this taken to court. In that, he was firm, and had I allowed it go any further, the case would have been a severe detriment to this company, and a public relations disaster."

"How so?"

"He would have ended this one way or another. Getting in the middle of a familial power struggle aside, Antonia Suddelson was doing this for her own purposes, not her brother's. With that kind of miscommunication, it would only been a matter of time before Hector would have taken this into his own hands. At the very least, he trusted me to handle it before the situation could escalate further."

Mr. Finch looked away, reaching for a large cup of lukewarm coffee and raising it to his lips. An audible gulp later, he set it back down, and once again began to shake his head. "And you slept with this woman?"

A flicker of embarrassment colored her face a faint blush. "Yes, I did. It was a mistake. A bad one."

The older man fiddled with his glasses, pushing back on the arms of his plush leather chair and staring her down hard. "Jefferson, that was probably the main reason I convinced the partners to keep from firing you."

The statement was so far out of left field, Joanne could only respond with an imitation of a gaping fish.

"I'm sorry, sir?" 

Reaching into the file folder, he pulled out a legal document. "Your lawyer has dutifully informed that, that if in fact you're fired for sleeping with a woman, it could be interpreted as an act against your sexual preference, and grounds for a suit." 

"My lawyer?" Joanne repeated, suddenly befuddled. 

"Mmmm," he responded, staring down at the paper as if it were covered in worms, "A woman by the name of Cindy Waters?" Joanne's eyes widened and he harrumphed in reaction. "Sound familiar?"

Her mouth opened, and then closed again. "Mr. Finch-"

"It was the excuse I gave them, and I'm glad for it." Bringing down the paper, Mr. Finch leaned over the desk. "Joanne, if I had to fire every employee of mine who slept with a client, I wouldn't have a roster left. Nicky alone has three sexual harassment lawsuits filed against him." 

Joanne's smile was muted, as she lowered her head and sucked in her breath. "Honestly sir, it doesn't surprise me."  
"It shouldn't," he responded, voice still stern. But the anger behind it was fading fast, and Mr. Finch seemed to deflate. "Quite, frankly, Jefferson, you're a damned good lawyer. And you seem to be in it for the right reasons. The firm needs lawyers like Nicky, but we need lawyers like you. It certainly helps our image."

It was a surprising turn of events, and not quite up to her usual sharpness, Joanne was completely thrown.

"Mr. Finch…" 

"It doesn't excuse what happened. The firm has to set an example, and the partners want it to be made clear that you're not to head the higher profile cases around here." Joanne lowered her head, an appropriate response. Closing her eyes for a moment, she wondered if it was altogether appropriate, the relief that had flushed over her now. "I'm sure you're crushed," Finch added dryly.

Joanne's head lifted. "No, sir-" 

"Unfortunately, Hector Suddelson has also made clear that you were indeed acting in his interests, and despite the fact it is his sister writing the check, the case is his to drop. You're allowed one fuck up, Jefferson. But just one. Do you understand me?" 

"I do, sir."

A moment of quiet, and then Mr. Finch shook his head, letting the pen tip from his hand and roll onto the desk. "I suppose it would be too much to ask to keep this lesbian thing to yourself?"

"It just might be," she responded, oddly unoffended.

He made an odd sort of choking sound in his throat, before he shrugged and swiveled in his chair. "Your father wouldn't have either," he said. "Truthfully, I don't respect people who don't stand up for what they believe in." He stared at the desk, thinking the statement through, and then said, "I know a lesbian."

"Good for you," she stuttered, because she could think of no other way to respond to the statement.

"Her name's Nicole. She's a nice one. Works in Finance. You need a good woman, Joanne. One that will settle you. Like my Nikki."

It took nearly all of Joanne's composure not to burst out into inappropriate laughter.

--

Stepping out of Frederick Finch's office, Joanne's heels sunk into the lush carpet of the office floor, fingers flexing over her briefcase distractedly. The entire situation was just beginning to sink in, and Joanne still found herself dazed, unsure how it had somehow seemed to have knit itself back together, repaired on it's own while she lay sick and broken in her own bed.

Joanne didn't believe in luck, and she had a harder time believing in fate, but she wasn't one to question good fortune, as she took a moment once she rounded the corner to rest her dizzy body against the corridor wall, close her eyes and breathe out slowly.

Her life remained precariously, oddly intact.

It was enough to make her uncharacteristically giddy, and true to form, the discipline in Joanne warned her against losing control. There were things to consider. While her job was secure, her reputation had taken quite the dive. Now was the time for treading water. Playing it safe.

It wasn't the time to dwell on the woman she knew was still in her apartment, the enigma that had somehow landed in Joanne's life and wormed her way into her soul. 

She had Maureen. Joanne clenched her teeth and shook her head slowly, the idea beginning to permeate itself deeper. She had Maureen.

Now that she had her, what the hell was she supposed to do with her?

There was so much to discuss, and Joanne, not used to having question marks blotting her life, didn't know the answers. She didn't know if Maureen was living with her, or how the hell they were going to get Maureen's wardrobe over if she was. She barely knew Maureen's last name, and hell, she didn't even know what the hell Maureen did when she wasn't being an over-the-top performance artist.

Lifting her head, she dug trepidly into her pocket and pulled out 'the brick', as she had decided to term the odd mechanical device that Steve had given to her. Flipping it open, she studied it staring at the digits that obediently lit up in anticipation.

Her heart hammering oddly, she began to punch in her home number, holding the phone to her ear as she began to make her way to her office. The line was fuzzy, but it was her machine that picked up, her voice that greeted her, and Joanne slowed, overtaken by the mere idea that it wasn't enough anymore. 

"Maureen," she said haltingly, after the machine beeped and the recording had played, "It's Joanne."

She wasn't aware that she was holding her breath until the phone clicked and she heard Maureen's voice. Her eyes closed and her shoulders slumped, insides fragile as spun glass, as Maureen greeted her with a simple, "Are you fired?"

Pressing her lips together, flushed and suddenly happier than she had ever been, Joanne straightened. "No. I'm not fired."

"Yay. Score one for the lesbians."

Joanne grinned to herself, head shaking in morose agreement. "That's not exactly what it means."

"Whatever, you still have a job. Come home and let's celebrate."

She let out a disbelieving chuckle, suddenly exasperated that for a second, the possibility was entirely too feasible. "Honey, considering my less than stellar track record the last month and a half, I think it might be asking a little too much to skip out of the office merely an hour after I've gotten here."

She could almost see the disappointed pout on her lover's face. "You know I'd make it up to you." 

Closing her eyes at the connotation, Joanne repressed a delirious shudders. "Save it for tonight. I promise, I'll make it up to you."

"Deal."

The smile on her face faded when a figure rose from the chair beside Steve's desk. Hector Suddelson looked pale and sick, in grey slacks and a white t-shirt, like a faded copy of the vibrant original.

"Baby, I gotta go," she said into her phone, and didn't give Maureen time to protest. "I'll see you tonight."

"Joanne." 

"I have to work," she said, firm but gentle, as Hector's lids lowered and fingers slid into his pockets. "I love you."

It was enough to appease Maureen, at least for the moment, and Joanne, snapped closed her cell phone quickly, before her lover could continue the argument.

"Hi."

Hector face was curiously closed. "Hi." Hands shoved into his jeans, he looked younger than before eyeing her with a flat expression. "Was that Maureen?"

It wasn't the name, but the way he said it - with a coldness that told her he had been told the story of Maureen's place in her life. The judgment in his eyes wasn't undeserved, and Joanne smiled grimly, ignoring Steve's blatant stare from his desk to tilt her head to her office. "Yes, it was. Come in," she added, ready to take him into his office, work this out.

"No thanks." Hector's bangs shook and he reached up, threading into them with his fingers to push them out of his eyes. "I have to get going. I just…" Stepping forward, his adam's apple bobbed up and down, and he rubbed at his chest, as if he was experiencing pain. "I want to let you know everything was okay now. I worked it out with Antonia."

She couldn't say much to that – it was a final statement, her chapter and involvement in their saga had come to a close. "I'm glad." 

"Yeah." Nodding in automatic reaction, he began an awkward shuffle. "We're starting a foundation. Dedicated to AIDS awareness in the gay community. Gives her a cause, you know?" 

The enormity of the idea wasn't lost on her, and her eyes instantly began to stink. "That's… that's amazing, Hector." 

His smile didn't match his eyes, as he crossed his arms, and shrugged. "Despite all this… I don't think I've ever seen someone screw up so badly and still be quite as… kind as you." Joanne's mouth twitched, and a ragged breath escaped her. "I guess, none of us are perfect."

"No," she agreed. "But we love and we live, despite that. Because of it." 

The smile that flashed on the handsome features was genuine, and Joanne's own heart ached with genuine longing, for her friend, lost and found.

"Thanks," he said, and he moved forward on his loafers, as she let him pass, eyes fluttering closed in hidden emotion as he squeezed on her shoulder, as much affection as he would allow.

Joanne turned, eyes moist as she watched him go, memorizing him, knowing she would never forget.

--

"Only you," mused Megan. The pretty brunette's eyes were wide and her smile was demure, but the satisfaction on her face was very real. Sitting back in her comfortable chair, she twirled the straw in her water delicately, blazer shrugged off and looking the picture of a beautiful young socialite. "I don't know how on earth these things happen to you."

Swallowing around the sore lump in her throat with a grimace, Joanne shivered into her coat and held her tea to her nose, nostrils flaring at the acrid smell. "This has never happened to me," she corrected her, and shuddered at the bitter taste. "This tea is horrible. It's like I'm drinking stewed weeds."

"Drink it," Megan ordered, and when Joanne arched a defiant brow, her friend only glared. "It wasn't me that told you to go running around the middle of the frigid city in the pouring rain to go and find an insane Bohemian actress. Who I'm sure is perfectly lovely," she added, when Joanne's mouth twitched.

"She's not lovely," Joanne said, because it wasn't the word she could use to describe Maureen. Maureen was magnetic, and insane and driven and aggressive and timid and fragile and yes, she was hauntingly beautiful, but lovely? Lovely was too gentle a word to pin down a maelstrom like the woman in her bed. 

Megan looked perplexed, but true to form, didn't pry. Instead, her friend simply shrugged, placing her water down on the napkin provided, hands folding into her lap primly. "So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?" Joanne asked, even if she knew exactly what Megan was hedging at.

"You're a woman of action, Joanne," Megan reminded her, as if it was her patron duty. Joanne sighed, concentrating on the horrible smell of Megan's prescribed tea, the liquid seeping down her throat and warming her insides. "And she's left him for you. So what happens now?"

"I don't know," she admitted, because it was true. Her eyes lifted and she held the soft brown eyes with an even, unapologetic gaze. "I don't know what happens now. She's still the same girl. She's the girl who seduced my girlfriend to prove a point. She's the girl who flirted with the bartender at my mother's party, and I still don't know what the hell she does for a living." Megan's lips curved downward, almost amused. "But you know what? It doesn't matter. For once, I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with her, and that's okay. I love her. That's all I need to know."

"Well, heaven's to betsy, the grinch grew a heart." The statement made her hitch in her breath, features freezing in exaggerated exasperation as Cindy dropped her purse into the vacant seat, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck and studying Joanne from below her expensive sunglasses. "If you start spouting love sonnets and poetry or burst out into song, we're not friends anymore."

Megan's face betrayed a quick smile, and Joanne couldn't fight her own loving bemusement as she waited for her friend to settle into her seat. 

"So you're my lawyer, huh?"

Folding her glasses carefully, Cindy arched an eyebrow. "You think you could do better?"

It had been an intense week, and Joanne exhaled slowly, unsure what to think as she stared at her beautiful friend who she had never quite loved like she deserved.

With a smile, she shook her head gently, and reached forward to gently curl her hand on top of her friends. Pressing a gentle kiss atop the knuckle, she was genuinely sincere when she replied, "No, I really don't think I could."

Cindy stared at her in startled silence, until she blinked and jerked her hand out of her grasp. "Shut up and drink your tea," she said, shuddering. "You're freaking me out."

Megan snorted into her water, and Joanne closed her eyes and shook her head. "I love you too, baby."

--  
_In an attempt at discretion, Joanne had arrived at Hector's funeral and not made herself known. She slipped into the back of the church, and listened with a grim expression as the preacher went on and on about Hector's life and subsequent death being a lesson in moral ethics._

The life lesson given by the preacher in that condescending tone, while her beautiful friend lay so close, eyes closed, pale faced and rosy cheeked, was enough to disgust her into leaving, push her way out of the hall and into the cold, trenchcoat wrapped around her, breath misting in puffs.

The gardens around her were beautiful in a sterile way, and it didn't seem to fit somehow, that Hector's vibrant life would end so quietly, in suffocating silence.

Doors pushing open behind caused a sudden rush of heat, and glancing at the exiting intruder, Joanne was surprised to look upon the frustrated expression of a hazel eyed woman, the dead man's twin.

Already fussing with a long, thin cigarette, Antonia was nearly startled into dropping it, gaze locked on Joanne like a misguided missile.

"Hi," Joanne said, civil and tired, when Antonia didn't move.

Stiffly, her former lover let out an estranged sigh. "Hi."

Joanne nodded, not kindly, not meanly, but politely, before turning her attention back to the stone sculptures that marked the gravestones of the people rich enough to afford them. Splotches of white on a green landscape. When Antonia stepped up beside her, Joanne didn't move. 

"Couldn't stand it either, could you?" Antonia said, voice quiet and low. When Joanne glanced at her, she held up the tiny little death stick. "Do you mind?" When she shook her head minutely, the other woman pulled out an expensive looking lighter, inserting the cigarette between her lips. "It was weird," she continued, although Joanne had yet to respond. "While Father McNamara kept talking, all I thought about was that life support meeting and what you said."

Joanne's mouth quirked.

"You don't remember?" Antonia asked, in response to Joanne's questioning expression,voice husky from the cold and the smoke, the smell of burning tobacco permeating the cool, crisp air. "It's about living with the disease," she repeated, like a script. "Not dying from it." Joanne glanced at the stairs. "They should be in there celebrating his life," Antonia finished, dropping the half smoked cigarette to the floor and stomping on it, actual disdain dripping into her tone. "Not condemning it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Joanne asked. It wasn't said in a hostile manner, and eyes catching her own, Antonia didn't seem to take offense. The beautiful face merely broke into a sad smile.

"Because you're the only one who understands." Brunette curls were constricted tightly in a conservative bun, and it occurred to Joanne that she looked… older. "Maybe it was because I met you when it first happened… but there was an experience that was shared that no one else can comprehend. You saw Hector for who he was, you didn't just see his disease."

"Stereotypes and prejudice can only take you so far," Joanne answered, a beat later. "I learned that the hard way."

There was a moment of silence, as if Antonia was letting that sink in, before she turned toward her, attention completely on Joanne and not the scenery around them. "How's Maureen?"

The question was so out of the blue Joanne was almost stunned, eyes widening and then narrowing, until she looked deep into Antonia's face and saw nothing but sadness, as if Antonia was so overwhelmed with grief she had no room for petty emotion.

"Maureen's fine," she said, carefully. "She sends her condolonces."

"I bet," came the bitter answer, and as Joanne blinked, Antonia winced, shuddering as if she were trying to shake her mood. "Sorry." 

"You're entitled to still be angry," Joanne answered stiffly, ignoring the jolt up her own spine, a painful reminder of the delicate intricacies of the situation.

"I'm not, though." Hazel eyes locked with her own. "Look, what I did was wrong." Joanne hitched in her breath, glanced away, not wanting to dwell on the situation. "It didn't make what you did anymore right, but… I was too hurt to really see things clearly-" 

"I'm not here to talk about that, Antonia," she cut in, sharp and to the point. "I'm here to pay my respects to your brother."

That, it seemed, was enough to ground her ex-lover. With a shiver, she turned away from Joanne, and buried herself further in her expensive black coat.

"Good luck with your foundation," Joanne said, and nodded her head, stepping away from Antonia. "And my condolences." 

"Joanne." Pausing, Joanne tried to maintain her composure, turning to study the other woman. Antonia wore a grim smile. "For what it's worth, thank you for your loyalty to my brother. I didn't need it as much as he did."

Choked up on emotion and memories, Joanne simply stared, before she offered a soft, gentle smile. It was all she could give, and for Antonia, it finally seemed to be enough. 

--

Coming home to her lover, Joanne had been overwhelmed with a bout of romantiscm. She had purchased a box of chocolates and a dozen red roses, and while she was sure Maureen would arch a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at both and call the tokens almost too sentimental, they still made Joanne grin as she carried them.

It was a odd feeling: euphoric and careful, a sort of disconnected disbelief that this was really how it had all turned out, that a woman who she had been disgusted with at first glance was now the woman who owned her soul.

Still, she wore a smile, ignoring the remnant tickle at the back of her throat that came from her sickness, and opened the door to her apartment, expecting loud music, the smell of food, the overwhelming presence of Maureen.

Silence is what greeted her, and in the desolate darkness, Joanne's high spirits took a decidedly devastating turn. 

"Maureen?"

No answer, and Joanne hand fell, flowers crinkling in her palm as she searched the apartment, looking for a clue, a note, any sign that her lover had not changed her mind, running scared like before.

She stepped further into the apartment, the tightness in her chest nearly unbearable, until something caught her eye that nearly took her breath away.

The glimmer of the light from her bedroom was faint, but it was enough to move her in that direction. Joanne's footsteps were light, and heart in her throat, she opened the door slowly.

In her bed was a lump of blankets, sprouting a curtain of brown curls.

"Maureen?" 

Slowly, the lump moved, until Joanne caught sight of a miserable, pale face.

"I'm sick," came the raspy tone, and Joanne's relief immediately slid into guilty sympathy, as the roses and chocolates came down, and she settled into the bed, one hand reaching for her lover.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry." 

"You got me sick," Maureen sniffled, eyes shut as she nuzzled into Joanne's thigh. "I missed work and I missed acting class and I've been snuffly and runny and sweaty."

"I know…" Palm against the fevered forehead, Joanne sighed raggedly, attention on the beautiful mess below her. "I'll take care of you."

"You better…" Maureen cradled her thigh like a child, almost desperate. In that quiet, intimate moment, she seemed delicate, fragile, not at all the wanton mistress first impression had so blatantly presented. "Joanne?" 

"Yeah, honeybear."

"I'm a singing telegram girl." Joanne blinked, the words not registering until one eye opened and focused blearily on her. "That's what I do." 

Joanne's finger stilled. "You mean, you go to offices dressed like a rabbit and sing?"

"Not a rabbit," Maureen sniffled indignantly. "Well, once a rabbit once. Only on Easter. You think it's stupid, don't you?"

"No," Joanne said immediately. "No, I don't. I think it's perfect." 

She received an odd look in return, but Maureen shifted, and Joanne obediently lay down beside her, lovingly caressing Maureen's hot cheek as her lover moaned grumpily.

"What am I going to do with you?" she wondered out loud, as the figure, long torso and strong arms, shapely defined legs, curled into her own body.

She wasn't sure she'd ever figure out the answer.

She had a lifetime to try.

--

_End chapter_


	23. Epilogue

**Title: All Wet  
Author: Misty Flores**  
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT  
Rating: M for adult situations between two females

Notes: All done. Thanks for the feedback and for taking the journey with me. It's very much appreciated.

--

**Epilogue.**

It wasn't that Maureen Johnson had wanted to fall in love with Joanne. 

Joanne was bossy and a snob and damned inconvenient. From the moment she had first given Maureen attitude over a stupid piece of paper with a few drops of water on it, to the moment she had demanded on their engagement day that Maureen not even be friendly with a fucking bartender, she had been a completely exasperating nightmare to deal with.

Joanne wasn't malleable. It took much more than a simple pout and a sensuous kiss to get her to change her mind on anything and she judged things on the spot. If she didn't like something, she didn't like it, and even if Maureen tried like hell to get her to change her mind, she usually only had a moderate success rate.

Joanne had friends who drank martinis and carried thousand dollar hand bags and acted like being upscale lesbians in New York was like being royalty. Friends who stared at her like she was from another planet instead of from another part of the city, who gave her plastic smiles and didn't ever really loosen up until they got plastered with alcohol.

Being with Joanne was like being with different people. Maureen had always thought it was hilariously stupid that Joanne seemed to think she had some sort of personal schizophrenia when Maureen had to contend with GayJoanne, and LawyerJoanne, and BohemianJoanne, and BlackJoanne, and even DrunkAssGrabbingJoanne. She never knew who she was going to get, and when Joanne slid into her roles seamlessly, Maureen had to learn to deal with each one, like riding waves in the ocean and hoping not to drown.

Joanne saw nothing wrong with developing an intimate friendship with her ex-boyfriend and taking calls from Antonia Suddleson about her stupid foundation, which really was just an excuse for Joanne's ex-girlfriend to pry one more time to see if Joanne was still involved, and yet Joanne would completely flip out every single time anyone even LOOKED in Maureen's direction.

It had been easy, to let the bad pile up into an absurdly tall mountain of doubt, until all it had taken was one more push from Joanne, one more demand when Maureen had already made it clear time and time again that Joanne already HAD everything that she could give, for Maureen to give up.

Maybe she had been looking for a reason. Maybe she had looked into Joanne's eyes and seen the affection and couldn't quite believe it, because Joanne had never expected anything of her, and to go from that to something so momentous like the rest of their lives in consecrated commitment scared the living shit out of her. Maybe Maureen's mother was right and being with Joanne was simply one more act of rebellion, one more act of unpredictability for Maureen that she could never follow through with, because, as her mom would always point out, Maureen never finished anything she started.

Whatever it was, the relationship was over as quickly as it had begun, and when Maureen found herself outside of that damned stuffy country club, and the exhilaration and the fevered heat of emotions had died down, the reality of her situation had sunk in.

It wasn't just another fight. There wouldn't be any hot make up sex that same night, and Joanne wouldn't call her agent's office and hire Maureen to come sing at her office just so she could apologize and give her roses and chocolates. Maureen couldn't come home a little drunk and a little pathetic and watch Joanne give in with a shrug of her shoulders and an exasperated sigh, because more than anything else, Joanne liked to take care of her.

Joanne wasn't like that. Joanne wouldn't give in. This time wasn't like any of the others.

At first Maureen had deluded herself into thinking it was temporary, that it was going to be like before, and Maureen could continue with her newfound freedom and wait for Joanne to show up like she had the first time Joanne had admitted her love, sick and lost and broken.

She had even had her own fantasy about it. She was going to pretend to remain unaffected, as Joanne stood there and apologized and begged her to come home. Maureen would give in, but only after making Joanne suffer, because Joanne had hurt her immeasurably and it was only fair.

In the meantime, she could have her flings, get the bug out of her system, so when Joanne came back to her and they got back together, it could be like before, and they could have Joanne's stupid engagement party and get it out of the way, and then spend the rest of their lives making each other ecstatic and miserable.

But a month passed, and then two, and Joanne never showed up. And the flings Maureen wanted to get out of her system didn't seem so appealing, not when she spent her time looking around corners, waiting for someone who never did seem to appear.

She worked a lot, always going to work and looking on the strip with the address with a sinking heart, because it was never Joanne's office, never Joanne's building.

After a while, she began to hate Joanne. Only Joanne would be stupid enough to leave her and what they had over TALKING TO THE DAMNED BARTENDER, and Joanne had always been stupid like that. And it was almost easy to remember all the problems, all the little issues that had pricked at Maureen, like Joanne blowing up at her two weeks after they had gotten together when she found out Mark was still her production manager. 

Leave it to Joanne to not CARE that Maureen NEEDED a production manager and Mark was the best at it. Fine. Joanne had bitten herself in the ass with that when Maureen had given her the job, instead.

And Joanne had been adorable. Fussing with wires and snapping at poor Steve, looking so out of place in her trenchcoat and suits, coming home so crabby, claiming she 'wasn't a theatre person', obsessed with every perfect detail, because that was how her baby was.

Her Joanne was also sweet, and kind, and she had passion for everything she did. Joanne was all about hidden depths, exploring beneath the surface. Joanne liked to listen, and she liked to feel, and when she would make a mistake, she wouldn't make it again. Joanne never backed down from something she believed in, and for a few months, she believed in Maureen. Even if countless times, she told Maureen she had no idea what the hell to do with her, she believed in Maureen long enough to stick by her, put up with her, love her. Because Joanne was loyal and stubborn to a fault, and only when someone let her down so completely that Joanne couldn't believe in them anymore, did she give up.

And Maureen hated Joanne for giving up on her.

When Angel got sick, and Mimi had called to let Maureen know that she was in the hospital, Maureen saw Joanne again, the first time since she had strong armed Mark to get her things out of Joanne's apartment. Standing stiffly to one side, her pookie wore tired eyes and a firm pressed suit, and when Maureen locked eyes with her lover for an instant over the bed of their personal dying Angel, Joanne had looked away.

Just like that, Maureen's bleeding heart had flared in pain, and she realized Joanne wasn't ever coming back.

It had taken a moment to gather herself, suck in her breath and straighten her spine, and smile for Angel, because she was dying, and somehow it made all of it that much poignant. There was so much death in that room – the stench of it had hit them all, as Mark looked exhausted and disgusted, and Mimi looked paler than she had seen before, and Roger looked like he just didn't care anymore.

Maureen wasn't throwing up. She hadn't since the break up, because she had deluded herself into thinking Joanne was just moments from coming back and it killed Joanne when she threw up. She was working more and getting better scenes in her acting classes and she had done it all while loving Joanne and then while hating her because with each one came the direct need for a response.

But her pookie would respond, because she wasn't ever coming back, and that afternoon, Maureen wasn't immune to the heavy fog of death: something inside her died the moment Joanne looked away.

Joanne had left soon after, stating in a softer-than-she-remembered voice that she had an appointment she couldn't be late for, never once looking at Maureen when she did it. 

Maureen's smile was plastic and her heart was breaking, so she made a cruel crack about her workaholic ex-lover that drew a glare from Mark and a rather stiff, pained smile from Mimi.

It was uncomfortable and awkward for them, but expected: none of them acted surprised, and Maureen almost took offense to that. Not one "Maureen, you can't really hate her that much" or "Maureen, come on, you almost married her". Not one.

She threw up again, at home in her tiny studio that she could barely afford, and she cried, for the first time in months. On the floor of her bathroom, Maureen curled into herself and sobbed so hard it physically hurt just to breathe. She hated Joanne for killing her, not once, but twice, over and over again, and still, months after they had broken up, she kept killing her.

And even while Maureen thought it, she hated Joanne for not gathering her into her arms with wild, concerned eyes, asking what the hell she was going to do with her, and begging Maureen not to be so melodramatic.

Maureen picked herself up and she made it through the night, because she was Maureen Fucking Johnson, and she could live without Joanne Jefferson, over attentive snob.

She did. She went out and fucked as many women she could find, and then she met and dated Charlie, a nice guy who managed a pizza joint. He was nice and sweet and had no problems with her dramatics, partly because he was so in awe of her he would let her do whatever she wanted, partly because she didn't care enough to muster to effort.

Maureen had to concentrate on living, on breathing, and she did, she worked and she smiled and the Joanne-sized hole in her heart shrank every day.

When Angel died, she cried again. She got the phone call from Collins, who was almost too choked up to breathe, nevermind speak. He whispered the news, and then said he was inviting Joanne, because that's what his baby would have wanted: would Maureen be cool?

She stuttered and smiled a plastic smile, even if it was a telephone she was speaking into and Collins' couldn't have possibly seen it. Of course, she told him, anything for Angel.

It was selfish, she knew, to use Angel's funeral as a chance to do anything but celebrate her life. And she was devastated over Angel, really she was. But her heart was beating furiously, and her red eyes were searching the church furiously, and when she saw Joanne, for a full minute, she couldn't breathe.

Her baby hadn't changed. She still wore her hair in those tight little ringlets, and she still had on one of her perfectly tailored suits with knee high boots. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and as Maureen sat in the pew, feeling Collins' palpable pain for sweet Angel, she remembered how much she hated it when Joanne cried.

Joanne rarely broke down. She was strong, everyone always thought she was the rock, certainly stronger than Maureen. Joanne had only broken down, really broken down, twice. The first time she remembered was one she would remember forever: when Joanne came to her performance space, sick and weak, and confessed her love. The second time, was after Joanne had found out about her bulimia. When Joanne had found her, and Maureen had explained it all, and Joanne had sunk to the floor, haunted and broken. Just the look on her baby's face, the pain because Joanne blamed herself for it, blamed their fight for Maureen's relapse. The expression on Joanne's face was what made Maureen swear she wouldn't ever do it again, get down on her knees and gather Joanne to her, and promise she would take care of herself because she couldn't bear to see Joanne suffer that much.

Joanne had told her that it wasn't enough: that Maureen had to want to get better for herself, not for Joanne, and maybe she was right, but in Maureen's head, it was good enough. 

Both times, she had held her baby, kept Joanne together when one more hurdle would have torn her apart, and it was both those times that Maureen understood that she was truly in love. She loved Joanne, not just for her strength, but for her weakness. It was a different feeling: to want to take care of someone as much as she wanted to be taken care of, to want to hold Joanne and wipe her tears away and not think about how much longer she had to do it.

Collins had held Angel until his lover had wasted away, and that was love. Collins, her beautiful friend who had experienced so much tragedy and had always kept smiling, now could hardly keep from standing up right, clutching onto that coat like it was his own personal crutch. 

In that church, it was what they celebrated: Collins' love, Collins' devotion. They felt Collins' pain and Maureen's own eyes watered with subdued regret as his song lifted through the church as if on a bird's wings. It was Joanne who carried Collins through, and Maureen own heart burst with feeling as she joined in with the rest of the grievers, standing and losing herself in the memory of Angel and the memory she presented.

In that moment, they were all together again: Roger and Mimi, Mark and Collins and she and Joanne, once again a family, if only to remember Angel.

It didn't last. Benny was there with Mimi, not Roger, and he was being a judgmental ass, butting his head into what Maureen was sure was Mimi and Roger's argument. Then of course, Joanne, who up until then hadn't spoken to her at all, decided to say she was basically doing the same damned thing.

That the first words Joanne said to her in months were accusing and patronizing caused such a strong rush of emotion that she snapped at her before she quite knew what she was doing.

It was enough for her ex-lover to suddenly come to life, her and Mimi, with such rage and emotion Maureen found herself, for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, speechless. Joanne ranted and raved about her, screaming at her that Maureen never even gave an inch to Joanne's mile, comparing her to fucking ROGER of all people.

She couldn't stand it. The attack on her senses, the assault of Joanne and the clear trembling emotion in the rich, deep voice was enough to make her turn away, stare at nothing for the sake of not having to look at Joanne, as the words beat into her.

She crossed her arms, tried hard to control her own numbness, when Roger began to rant back at his own Mimi. It was Collins that stopped them snapping at each other like a pack of dogs, reminding them why they were there, reminding them once again of the death of their own.

"I can't believe our family must die."

And it was there, said out loud, it was goodbye.

In that statement, in those words, was a truth Maureen couldn't accept, not when she glanced back and saw her baby, her pookie, sitting there lost and haunted and broken, tears streaming down her cheeks.

There wasn't a need to think. Maureen didn't sit there and process what she was doing. All she knew was that her boots began to sink into the soft grass, each step carrying her closer to her lover, to wipe the tears from her face. Maureen couldn't stand it when Joanne cried.

Maybe the family was dying, maybe Joanne had given up, but the hell if Maureen was. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. She didn't want to say goodbye. She wanted mornings with Joanne. She wanted fights and make up sex and she wanted to hold her when she cried.

Everyone said that Joanne was the strength of their relationship, the glue that held them together, and Maureen let them all think it, because for the most part, that was true.

It wasn't as if Maureen Johnson wanted to fall in love with Joanne. And Joanne hadn't wanted to fall in love with her.

But it wasn't about what she wanted, not exclusively, not selfishly.

She grabbed hold of Joanne's hand and wiped her tears, pulling her baby close and holding her as tightly as she could, and as she did, and their family walked away, leaving them behind, she whispered in her ear what she thought was the most beautiful monologue she had ever heard, imprinted to memory the first time the words burned into her soul.

"Sometimes I think I know everything and this time, I know that I know nothing. All I know is that I've loved you forever, and my life won't be better, until you tell me you love me too." Joanne's sob soaked breath sucked in, and Maureen leaned back, thumb tracing against an ebony cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I've never felt so incompetent in my life. I'm a complete mess, and it's because of you, and I don't want it any other way. You are beautiful and funny and crazy and nothing like anything I've ever seen and it makes insane, but it makes me crave. You make me want to hold onto you forever, never let go." She managed a shaky, sincere smile. "I want a chance to make you feel the same way."

Brown eyes met green, fingers tangled, and for all their flaws, Maureen and Joanne didn't let go. Not this time.

--

_FIN_


End file.
